


Eclipse

by SpellCleaver



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Dark, Brother-Sister Relationships, Dark Leia Organa, Defection, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Imperial Leia Organa, Imperial Luke Skywalker, Manipulation, Padmé Amidala Lives, Skywalker Family Drama, dark Luke Skywalker, gratuitous use of em-dashes, i blinked and this got dark, other characters and relationships to be tagged in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2019-11-29 10:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 103,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18221840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpellCleaver/pseuds/SpellCleaver
Summary: Luke and Leia, the twin children of Darth Vader and heirs to the Emperor himself, defect. When they do, it's naturally a dream come true for the Rebellion and the mother they never knew, one that's been a long time in the making.But they have to get to that point first.Or: Darth Vader unwittingly sends his children down the merry path of treason.





	1. Shatterpoint One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my newest fic, which I've been working on behind the scenes now for about a month. I'm planning on updating it every Sunday.
> 
> Many thanks to [Azalea_Scroggs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azalea_Scroggs/pseuds/Azalea_Scroggs) for talking about it with me and helping with the first scene, and to [maedre13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maedre13/pseuds/maedre13) for sending me dark Luke moodboards to help with inspiration :)
> 
> WARNINGS: This fic (if not necessarily this chapter in particular) will contain manipulation, dark thoughts, violence, character death and child abuse (Luke and Leia are seventeen when it starts), along with anything else I'll try to warn of in future chapters. If any of this causes a problem, please take care of yourself and don't read.

**.**

**Part I: Mercy**

**.**

Coruscant always felt simultaneously light and dark in the Force. Dark, naturally, because it was the base of the Galactic Empire, ruled by the Sith—but even the presence of two Sith Lords, the Inquisitors, and whatever Luke and Leia were couldn't overshadow the brightness of billions of beings eking out a life below. Some of them had never even seen the sun, but they still burned brightly enough to rival it.

There was a slight nudge against Luke's mind; he turned his head from the viewport to smirk at his sister. She leant against a seat as gracefully as if there wasn't a trussed up governor only a few feet away from her, her eyebrow raised.

"Dreaming again?"

"Thinking," he corrected. "You might want to try it for once."

She stuck her tongue out at him and made to something more, but before she could the shuttle came to a shuddering rest and an all too familiar Force presence pricked against both their senses.

Leia straightened up. "Father," she said.

Luke nodded, unable to contain the slight smile at the spike of fear he felt from the governor. He was not cruel, not like the Inquisitors—he didn't turn to the man and prod at it further. But it amused him.

The shuttle door opened; the ramp lowered. It was quiet enough outside that the few sounds present filtered in with intense clarity: namely, the rasp of his father's respirator.

The governor gasped at the sound and muttered something indiscernible. Probably a prayer.

Luke ignored him. Instead, he stepped down the ramp with slow, methodical steps, his lightsaber bouncing against his thigh. Leia followed next to him at the same pace, so they spotted their father at exactly the same time.

Vader stood at the base of the ramp with his arms crossed over his chest. A squad of stormtroopers were at his back. He barely moved his helmet to follow their progress towards him, but Luke and Leia had the Force. They could feel his relief, and his excitement, at their return.

They were in public, so they both offered a short bow before rising again and getting to the point.

"You have contained the uprising on Kuat?" Vader asked.

Luke nodded. "Yes, Father. The Rebel spies have been rooted out and dealt with. Construction is expected to resume as normal by the end of the week."

"You have installed a new governor to oversee this?"

"Yes. We brought Governor Trite back to answer to the Emperor for his failure." He wasn't sure what would happen to him, and he didn't much care. The man's negligence had led to thousands of men killed on Kuat alone, with countless more lost as Rebels used this moment of crisis to launch attacks all over the galaxy. He deserved whatever punishment Palpatine had in mind for him

Vader nodded once, curtly, but Luke could sense that he was pleased. "Good. The Emperor is awaiting your full report."

"Then we'll go straight to him," Leia said. She threw a glance at the stormtroopers squad—they instantly snapped to attention under her sharp gaze—and waved a hand towards the shuttle. "Seize the governor and escort him with us. He will need to be present for this."

"Yes, ma'am," the captain said.

 _Ma'am,_ _this time_ , Leia commented over their bond.

 _Always so mean to them._ But he smirked slightly anyway. _It's not like we have official titles or ranks._

It was true. They had no title—they had no name. They were just Luke and Leia, _the demon twins_ to any Rebels with a bone to pick, and that was that.

_We're above them, and that's all that should matter._

Vader turned sharply and walked into the palace, his cape flaring behind him dramatically. Luke suppressed a smile at that as well—he'd missed his father—and jogged to catch up.

He and Leia fell into step just as the double doors hissed open to allow them in. "How goes the hunt for Rebel Command, Father?"

"Inadequately," he replied. There was a growl to his voice, frustration, but it wasn't directed at them. "They remain in hiding for now, but we _will_ root them out, now that the two of you are back on Coruscant." He hesitated, then touched Luke's shoulder lightly. "I had intended to ask the Emperor to assign you to the _Devastator_ in the coming months, so that you might learn how to command your own flagship, if not the entire fleet, once I am no longer here."

Luke nearly stopped dead.

His father was the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy. He was the greatest military leader in the Empire. And he wanted to take Luke with him?

He thought he was good enough to _take his place_ one day?

Pride ballooned in his chest. That— that was a dream come true.

"I'd like that," he said finally. The words didn't do his emotions justice, _at all_ , but he showed them to him through the Force, and got a flare of satisfaction in response.

"And after. . ." Vader hesitated. "After this audience with the Emperor, I would like to see the both of you at home. I have something important we need to discuss."

Confusion and curiosity clouded his mind—he wasn't sure if they were his, or Leia's. He opened his mouth to inquire further—

Then they entered the throne room, and all other thoughts fled his mind.

The first thing he noticed, as always, was the Emperor's cloying presence, stretched out across the dais like an oil spill. Then he noticed the mural on the wall behind the throne, stretching up to the ceiling, which was. . .

Diamonds. The ceiling was inlaid with diamonds, in the pattern of all the stars in the galaxy. They twinkled above their heads as they walked forwards, their father falling into step a little behind them, and knelt at the base of the throne.

"Greetings, children," Palpatine said, and as always there was a slight shiver on the title, a hint of possessiveness. "I trust your trip was a success?"

* * *

Leia was the one who spoke. "Yes, Your Majesty. We have eliminated the Rebel spies and restarted production on the planet. Your projects will soon be back on schedule."

She knew she wasn't allowed to stop kneeling until Palpatine said so, so she shifted her weight more onto her back foot to ease the slight discomfort of the position. It was always her who gave the reports—she was the one wordlessly assumed to be the Emperor's chosen heir and spent more time in his presence, while it was obvious to everyone except Luke that Vader wanted him to inherit his position—so she was used to it by now. The words flowed smoothly from her lips.

The whole time, Palpatine sat up on his throne, unmoving. By the end of it, he shifted his gaze to the governor, a faint smile on his lips.

"Dozens of Rebel spies were found?" he mused. Leia nodded, knowing it wasn't really a question but that he liked to be acknowledged anyway. "My, that does _not_ reflect well on your leadership, Governor."

Trite, still restrained by stormtroopers, was pushed forward. Leia and Luke stood, backing off to give him space and watching from the sidelines.

Luke crossed his arms across his chest as they watched the man sink to his knees.

"It was. . . a mistake, Your Excellency," he babbled. "Please—give me a second chance. I promise you, I won't let you down—"

"I gave you prestige and power over one of the most vital systems in the galaxy, and you nearly brought my Empire to a standstill." The Emperor shook his head, almost sadly, but Leia knew he was enjoying this. "I'm afraid there will be no second chances."

He lifted his hand. Before the governor could even flinch, lightning arced from the throne and struck him along the torso.

Trite screamed. The measly shields politicians wore around their minds like fashion shattered under the assault; his pain screamed in the Force with him.

Her father and her Emperor drunk it in.

After a good few minutes of agony, the Emperor tired of it. He had plenty of candidates to torture on the regular basis—he certainly never shied away from it with the Inquisitors—and there was nothing personal or particularly satisfying about this. The man was the sort of weak-minded fool the Empire's upper echelons were full of. He was _boring_.

The onslaught stopped.

The governor clutched at the floor, eyes unfocused.

"Get up," Leia snapped, receiving an approving look from Palpatine. The man flinched, opened his mouth, then decided he was better off getting up and avoiding another round.

"You were saying?" Palpatine asked pleasantly.

There was a light touch against their minds through the Force; Luke and Leia exchanged glances. They knew what their instructions were.

Luke, stealthy as a nexu, circled around behind the governor.

He went unnoticed as the man heaved himself back to his knees, and bowed his head. "My Emperor," he began, "please—"

"Perhaps I shall spare you," Palpatine mused, ignoring his pathetic begging. "Mercy fosters the greatest loyalty, after all."

A heavy sigh fled the governor's lungs. "Thank you, Your Highness."

"Then again"—Palpatine paused briefly, and it must have felt like an eternity for the kneeling man—"perhaps not."

A hum, a flash of red, then the thud of Trite's head hitting the ground.

Palpatine nodded at Luke, who inclined his head in respect.

He said, "I believe the Sixth Sister is waiting outside for you. She needs debriefing on the infant you gave the nursemaids."

Luke took the dismissal for what it was. He bowed at the waist, then, shooting Leia a half-smile, turned sharply on his heel and exited the throne room. She watched him go, an answering smile tugging at her lips. They both liked dealing with the Sixth Sister; she was far too easy to taunt.

She glanced at Palpatine, hoping he would dismiss her as well, but he caught her eye and shook his head minutely.

"I'm sure you can see them argue some other time, my dear," he assured her, an almost grandfatherly smile on his face. She smiled back. "Until then, help an old man to the window?"

She stepped up to the dais to take his arm, and tried to hide her surprise. Every time she touched him, he seemed to have withered away further. His old injuries from the birth of the Empire seemed to afflict him more as well; though it had only been a few weeks that she and Luke had been away, the difference since she'd last seen him was stark.

He picked up on her thoughts, as he always did, and chuckled as they stopped before the window. "Yes, my dear, I'm growing old, now. Soon my time will have come, and I only hope my legacy will endure."

"I'm certain it will, Master," she assured him. She followed his gaze out of the window, to examine the city-planet beyond.

How could it _not_ endure? He had created an empire that spanned the galaxy, bringing unity where the Republic had only encouraged strife. So long as there was a firm hand to guide it, it would last ten thousand years.

"I am confident, of course," he admitted to her. "Arrogance may be my weakness, as you are always so quick to point out in our lessons"—he touched her shoulder affectionately—"but I believe I have earned that confidence. Especially given that I will leave it in your capable hands."

She tried to mask her sudden intake of breath, but she knew she couldn't hide anything from him. He gave her a knowing smile, but didn't comment.

He'd never overtly called her his heir before.

He'd given her lessons in diplomacy, economics, the running of the Empire—lessons Luke didn't and didn't want to have, while he studied the military instead. But he'd never been so bold. . .

She bowed her head, overcome. "Thank you, Master."

"You and your brother are the future of the Empire," he confided. "Luke will soon be ready to take your father's place, and you mine, once both our times come. And while I may be significantly older than Lord Vader, I fear his time is approaching faster than mine."

She frowned, a stab of fear shooting through her. Had he sensed something of the future, something to do with her father's health? She'd always known it only ever deteriorated. . .

"I'm afraid so, child," he said, picking up on her thoughts again. "I've been having visions of your father's death. I fear he is about to do something"—he narrowed his eyes at her, a sharp, suspicious gesture that almost made her want to step back from the shock of it—"rash."

Then his face cleared, and he patted her on the shoulder. "But, the future can change," he said. "And I'm sure you and your brother will talk him out of whatever reckless stunt he's planned this time." Another knowing smile. "Unless, of course, you join him."

She flushed.

It wasn't _unusual_ for her and Luke to be chided on their _occasional_ recklessness. But she hadn't had an incident like that in months!

"I'll do my best," she said, only half-sarcastic.

"I'm sure you will, my dear." He patted her on the shoulder. "Now, you mentioned that you took some Rebel spies prisoner in your report?"

She nodded.

"Then we will have them interrogated at dawn. I'm sure they will break quickly."

Leia swallowed her grimace—other Imperials' casual belief that interrogation was a simple, effective thing never failed to annoy her. Her father was the best there was, punching through the shields in even Jedi minds with minimal effort, but even he often failed to get confessions, or received false information. Leia didn't see the point of it: it was deeply unpleasant, and only stoked the fires of the Rebellion. Her brother's method was much more effective.

But she couldn't voice that dissent. It wasn't her place.

Yet.

"You'll be present?" she asked instead, pushing the question from her mind.

"It's said that the spies were working for Amidala," he said simply. She shivered at the amount of _hatred_ in that word. She'd always known the nebulous Rebel leader was a taboo subject—her father refused to use their name, claiming they'd stolen it from a woman long dead—but it always surprised her to hear such explicit malice from the Emperor. "It is always wise to know your enemies."

She conceded that with a nod, then a bow. "Then I shall see you at dawn, Master."

"I'll see you and your brother then," he confirmed. "You are dismissed."

With a final smile and bow, she turned to exit the room, as always effortlessly ignoring the possessive gaze that tracked her as she went.

* * *

The Sixth Sister was indeed waiting outside the throne room for him, and Luke smirked at her as they fell into step. "Always lovely to see you."

"Spare me the pleasantries," she growled, the closed mask on her helmet giving her voice an odd vibration. She opened it to glare at him, yellow eyes hard. "Just tell me about the kid."

"Alright," Luke said. "He's a human boy, eighteen months old, and the former Governor of Kuat's son. We found him when Leia saw him instinctively levitate his rattle to his hand."

"So it's human?"

"Yes—he's Trite's biological son." Luke didn't bother to keep his lip from curling, or keep the disgust out of his voice—in the throne room, Trite hadn't mentioned him at all. He'd only grovelled for his own power, not the life of his son. _Rebels_ were better than his sort of scum. "Davin, I believe his name is."

"I don't care. Inquisitors don't have names."

 _No_ , _they don't_. They were all called by numbers. Like stormtroopers.

Like Luke and Leia, with no last name to speak of.

They'd all come to the Empire with no past, and no future save the one being gifted to them. The _purpose_ they'd been gifted. No one had bothered to give them names—it had been. . . irrelevant.

Never mind that his father must have had a name before he became Vader. Never mind that nearly everyone else in the galaxy had one.

Never mind that for some reason, deep inside, having a name felt _important_ to him

Luke tried his best not to resent it. His father knew what he was doing, and he knew what was best. It wasn't Luke's place to question it.

He shook his head to dispel the thought. "Happy to finally have another human in the Inquisitors? You're not on your own anymore," he teased her. She glared, mouth pinching. She didn't respond.

"Is it still on the _Avenger_?" she asked instead.

Luke shook his head. "No—he was taken to the nursemaids while we came down with Trite."

"Alright. I'll pass the message on. Thank you," she said, a _touch_ sarcastically, "for your generous contribution to the Inquisitorius."

He grinned, and inclined his head as they finally reached the turbolift. "Anytime. If there's _anything_ I can do to help you—"

The doors to the lift slid open. His father was standing inside.

"Luke," he said, pleased to see him. "Come. Your sister has been dismissed; we need to head home and have that _family discussion_."

He turned his mask towards the Sixth Sister as an afterthought, and the room noticeably cooled. "Inquisitor."

"Lord Vader," she replied. She'd closed her mask the moment she saw him; her voice vibrated unnaturally.

"Have you found those Rebel Jedi yet?" he taunted. Luke took a surreptitious step back. He didn't know why his father hated the Inquisitors so much—he was sure there was a decent reason—but he _did_ , and he never gave up an opportunity to taunt them. "Tano? The _shadow_?"

She bit out, "No, my lord," with a shallow, bitter bow. "The Seventh Sister and the Fifth Brother were killed on Malachor when they—"

"I am aware. I was there."

"Well then you understand that the trail went cold after Malachor, _my lord_. The Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother were responsible for hunting that Rebel cell, and they did not share any information with the rest of us before they were killed five months ago."

"A minor obstacle. I expect you to get over it soon." Vader didn't need to gesture to his lightsaber or curl his fingers to make the threat clear.

She swallowed. "Yes, my lord. We will double our efforts."

"Ahsoka Tano remains the priority. Kill her, if no one else."

The Sixth Sister remained silent.

"You object?"

She lifted her chin. "I merely think—"

"Show your face when you address me."

A breath hissed out of her at the demand. But the visor on her helmet opened, and she lifted her chin in borderline belligerence.

"I merely think," she repeated, "as _the Emperor_ does, that you are too _focused_ on Tano. She is no longer even a Jedi—"

She broke off, no sound coming out of her mouth. She knew what was happening—her eyes didn't bulge in surprise, her hands didn't scrabble for her throat. She stayed stock still, but it was still unpleasant for Luke to watch.

He couldn't help it: he turned his face away.

When he did, Vader released her. He shot Luke a glance before continuing, "Ahsoka Tano remains the priority. Is there a _problem_ with that, _Sixth Sister_?"

She didn't give Vader the satisfaction of seeing her rub her throat, though it was obvious how much she wanted to.

It was enough of a slight for her to grind out, "None, my lord."

"Then we are done here." Vader turned back into the turbolift, and looked at Luke expectantly. "Come."

"Yes, Father." He stepped in afterwards. The doors shut on the Sixth Sister's resentful face, and then they were shooting up.

Luke fidgeted where he stood.

Vader turned to look at him, then looked back at the doors as he stated, "You disagree with how I handle the Inquisitors."

His father didn't play power games with him and Leia the way he did with the Inquisitors, but the statement was loaded nonetheless. Luke fought anger, but forced himself not to rise to bait. His father had taught him better than that.

"I would never presume to," he said. "I just think that being less actively cruel will foster loyalty for us."

"There is no _us_. Not that the Inquisitors are a part of. The Sixth Sister and all of her ilk are servants. They are beneath you. You should not care about them."

"I know. I don't care about _them_ ," he insisted. How true it was remained to be seen, but the Force didn't scream a lie, and he would never consciously lie to his father. "I care about the _Empire_. It is built on its servants; if you hurt them, you lose their loyalty."

"We never had their loyalty to begin with," Vader snapped as the turbolift ground to a halt. They stepped out, onto the landing platform where his father's shuttle was. "They are Palpatine's creatures, through and through."

Luke nearly stopped. "Father?" he said uncertainly. _We are Palpatine's creatures._ "We are all loyal to the Emperor—you speak with his voice. Loyalty to one of us is loyalty to all of us. There are no divisions."

Vader was silent for several cycles of the respirator. The sun was beginning to set over their area of Coruscant, touching the metal lines of the shuttle with gold.

"That," he said, as delicately as he could say anything, "is what we need to discuss tonight."

Luke frowned, but Leia arrived at the landing platform in that instant, and he dropped the thought in favour of returning her smile.

He would think about this later.

* * *

Something inside Leia finally relaxed when they arrived at the apartment. While an unfamiliar eye might see it as no different to any other skyscraper on the planet, it was her home. It was where she and Luke had spent half their childhoods, and she loved it.

They disembarked at the landing pad. By that point, Coruscanti Weather Control had let it rain, and she lightly jogged after her brother to escape from it. She flicked water at him the moment they were inside; he stuck his tongue out at her.

"Be serious," Vader chided.

Luke and Leia rolled their eyes.

The door slid shut on the pounding rain and the lift started upwards. They rode most of the way in silence, content with their respective thoughts. It wasn't until the lift opened again that she turned to her father and said, "So, what was it you wanted to talk to us about?"

Vader waved them into the living room first; Leia hesitated briefly, shooting him a look, then followed. He was being oddly quiet about all this. Usually he didn't bother waiting until they were in a specific place—if he needed to say it, he said it—and even if he was concerned about being caught on video, there were no holocams in the stairwell either.

But she stepped into the living room, casting a glance at her father as he stood and stared out of the window. Coruscant always looked beautiful in the rain, bright lights flickering through droplets on glass.

Their apartment was smaller than their wealth might suggest, but then again there were only three of them, and their main home was on Mustafar. They'd only moved to Coruscant at all when Luke and Leia were fourteen.

Nevertheless, what they did have was of the best quality, so Leia sank into an armchair with a sigh and closed her eyes. She had no problem with Star Destroyers, nor the quarters she was given, but she _was_ looking forward to having her own bed instead of having to fight Luke for the top bunk.

She heard Luke settle into the sofa opposite, heard the telling _clunk-clunk_ of him sticking his boots on the small table—then the hasty scuff as he realised what he was doing and tried to move before anyone noticed.

Opening her eyes and giving him a smirk, Leia sat forward. "Are you going to explain to us what's going on _now_?"

Vader jerked slightly, and she knew she'd caught him off guard. She wondered briefly what he'd been thinking about, but she knew not to ask. It was probably their mother, and their mother was not a welcome topic in this household.

It didn't matter. What mattered was that she'd caught him off guard, unbalanced him slightly. Palpatine had taught her that unbalanced opponents were always more likely to reveal more information than they would otherwise.

But Vader didn't say anything.

Luke was interested now. She'd felt him push aside his simmering curiosity on the journey over, but now the moment was here he let himself feel it in full. "Yeah—and what does it have to do with the Inquisitors?"

"The Inquisitors?" Leia asked, puzzled.

How were they relevant? She'd assumed that this was about their family, and the Inquisitors were certainly _not_ a part of that. She. . . didn't quite _respect_ them, but _tolerated_ them, much the same way she did stormtroopers.

But they weren't part of the family unit that was her, Luke and their father, and sometimes Palpatine. Not by a long shot.

Vader was silent for another long moment, then said, still facing the window, "You are familiar with the Sith rule of two?"

Luke and Leia exchanged a glance. "Yes," Leia said. "It's not like we _follow_ it. It's useful for staying hidden from the Jedi, but the Jedi are the ones hiding now." She waited, but her father didn't respond. "If you suddenly want to implement it again, hate to break it to you, but Luke and I would have to go because if it's just you and Palpatine—"

"I do _not_ want to implement it!" Vader snapped. Leia suspected the anger came more from the insinuation that he might kill them, or hurt them in any way, than anything else.

"So," Leia pressed, "what are you talking about?"

Her father was quiet for a moment.

"We may not _follow_ it," he said carefully—and the fact he said _anything_ carefully was, more than anything, what made Leia sit up and take notice— "but we can _learn from it_. There are aspects of it that can be applied to our situation."

"Like what?" Luke scoffed. Vader turned to face him. "Murdering your master?"

The words were said in jest, but they rang true in the Force. And suddenly, something came back to Leia.

_I've been having visions of your father's death. I fear he is about to do something. . . rash._

Rash.

Rash, like—

Leia stared at her father. "You're plotting a coup."

Vader inclined his head in a tiny nod.

"Oh, Force," Luke breathed. His eyes were blown wide. "Oh _Force_."

"Father. . ." She was at a loss for words. "What? _Why_?"

"He is a corrupt leader," Vader said simply. "He is a _tyrant_. He lies to the galaxy regularly, he lies to the two of you about what he wants from you, and he lied to _me_ about— about your mother's death." He took a shuddering breath out of sync with his respirator. "If he had told the truth, I would have found you all the sooner."

Leia exchanged a glance with Luke at that admission. Their father never spoke about their mother— _never_. They didn't even know how she'd died: all they had was an offhand comment about how Leia looked just like her.

But if Palpatine had lied about her death. . .

And—

"What do you mean," Luke asked, voicing Leia's exact question, "you would have _'found us'_?"

Vader froze, then, as if realising he'd said more than he'd meant to. He clammed up instantly, deflecting with, "He needs to go. He—" Another pause. "I found a. . . transmitter, in my suit."

Another exchanged look between the twins, identical expressions of _horror_ on their faces.

"A _transmitter_?" Luke exploded, shooting to his feet. "You mean—"

Leia held her hand up. Luke, recognising that now was not the time for outbursts, sat down again.

"Palpatine is the one who gave you the suit?" Leia pressed, mind whirring. "The only one who could edit it without you knowing?" She already knew the answer, but she needed confirmation—and it came in the horribly simple jerk of her father's head. A nod.

Her voice grew shrill, then. "And you found a _transmitter_ in it?"

 _Now_ was the time for outbursts.

Their father would not discuss their mother, or much else about his past, but they knew this much: he had been a slave. A slave on Tatooine, until the Jedi came to take him to a new kind of slavery.

And Palpatine knew that too.

For him to have put a _transmitter_ in him. . .

"Not necessarily a _transmitter_ ," Vader clarified. "But a small device in my control box. If I ever stepped out of line, he would shut me down like a faulty droid."

Leia's head was spinning, so it was Luke who asked, "When did you find it?"

"Doctor Aphra found it when she was working for me. She got access to some blueprints of the design and spotted it within moments."

" _Doctor Aphra_? But you haven't worked with her since—"

"Yes," Vader said. "I've known for two years now."

It all made sense now.

The barely restrained anger that had seemed to double— _triple_ —after that archaeologist had run off with her life.

How tight his voice always was when he reported to Palpatine, when he spoke of him. Like the words were being prised out of his gums.

"Why now?" Leia asked.

Vader turned to face her. "Because now the last of the Emperor's spies has been vetted from the _Devastator_ "—and oh, how she flinched at _that_ , just more of the Emperor's betrayal—"and the time is ripe to overthrow him. The situation made Trite and his other lackeys look weak—the people appointed by Palpatine _failed_ , where _you two_ succeeded. You are strong in comparison, and popular in the military. Now is the time to strike, while the Rebels are causing such chaos across the galaxy."

"That. . . makes sense," she admitted. And wasn't that ironic, that the lessons of politics and manipulation Palpatine had taught her were now being turned against him?

She and Luke looked at each other.

"But," Luke said, "are you _sure_ —"

"What?" Vader's tone was tight— _challenging_. "Am I sure about _what_?"

Leia lifted her chin. "Are you sure he was to blame?" she asked flatly. "He's practically our _grandfather_ —we're next in line to rule the Empire—"

"He bred me for _power_!"

Leia flinched back at the sudden malice in his voice, the room's familiar cold dropping to _freezing_. Frost crackled along the windows.

Vader was silent for a few more cycles of his respirator, then repeated, "He bred me for power. And I _am_ powerful—as are the two of you. But a powerful servant is still a servant. He feels no loyalty to any of us. The moment we turn on him, he will have us destroyed as mercilessly he will destroy the Rebel spies tomorrow morning."

For a moment, no one spoke.

"I. . ." Luke tried to say, then shut his mouth again. He had never been one for words, especially for arguing with their father. That was Leia's forte.

But even Leia was clueless.

"I—" She tried. "I think we need time. . . to think about this. Process it." _Stall for time, if you can, find your enemy's weakness in the time they give you, keep them talking—_

"Time to decide whether or not to sell me out?"

Leia shot to her feet, offended both at the idea and the icy, disdainful tone they were said in. "You are my _father_ ," she hissed. "I _will not_ betray you." A subtle, if inaccurate, _clumsy_ jab at him, for betraying _his_ 'father', the person she'd been taught by and venerating for as long as she could remember—

"Leia's right," Luke said, "I'm tired from the trip to Coruscant, and we need to be up at dawn. Preferably with _impeccable_ shielding," he added, almost wryly. They certainly didn't want the Emperor learning of this— _if_ , Leia realised in horror, thinking of his words to her, _he didn't already know_ — "Goodnight, Father."

Vader was watching them. Through the Force, he felt. . . surprised. . . at their vehement reactions, but what had he been _expecting_? Did he understand human behaviour at all?

Actually, Leia mused, she wasn't sure he did.

"Goodnight, Luke, Leia," he said finally. "I hope we will come to an agreement in the morning."


	2. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to update this on Sunday like I promised, but I didn't have access to my computer :/ However, I'm definitely planning on updating this Sunday, and I'll try to keep on top of things after that.

Luke's dreams were plagued with nightmares.

He'd seen how traitors were _personally_ dispatched by Palpatine before, and suddenly he couldn't stop seeing Leia kneeling in that same spot, head bowed, eyes hollow and broken. His father's cooling corpse lay in the background as he turned the lightsaber over in his hand and lit it, watching it plunge into his sister's chest, the loyal Imperial to the last—

* * *

Leia woke to a violent distress echoing in her mind.

She kicked the covers off instantly and bolted for the door. She knew it wasn't an attack, an assassination; she'd experienced that before, and she knew what it felt like when her brother was in shock and mortal terror. This was different, more familiar: Luke had had a nightmare.

She stretched out with her feelings briefly to assess where he was, what _exactly_ was going on. Her father was still asleep in his bacta tank, his mind calm in a way it never was while awake. In stark contrast to that calmness was Luke's anguish; he was shielding it from their father, and trying to shield it from her, but that flimsy barrier crumbled easily.

He was nearby—on the front landing pad.

She grimaced, pulled on some slippers and padded out. Lightning flashed beyond the windows, the rainstorm having built into its regular scheduled frenzy, and that was the light by which she spotted her brother.

He was sitting cross legged next to the speeder with his head bowed low. The rain drenched him, darkening his silk pyjamas and pasting his hair to the back of his neck, but he paid it no heed. He just sat, staring out over Coruscant.

She pulled one of the doors open and just stood there for a moment, wrinkling her nose as a few droplets flew in to splash her. She didn't say anything—she knew he knew she was there—and hoped he would say something first.

He didn't.

She sighed, and commented, "You know you're just _begging_ for an assassin to take a pot-shot at you, right?"

"They could try." There was a little arrogance in his voice, as always, but it was an _earned_ arrogance. Anyone who'd ever tried to assassinate them had died, either by their father's hand or theirs.

In fact, what worried her was that it wasn't _more_ arrogant than it was. His voice was otherwise dull, flat.

"Yeah, and you're not playing fair by luring them in like this. Besides, those are nice pyjamas. Are you just gonna stand there and let the rain ruin them?"

He rolled his eyes at that, a faint smile tugging at his lips, and conceded. Once he'd stepped back inside, the door shut tightly behind him, she raised an eyebrow. "So, are you gonna tell me what that was about, or. . .?"

He was still silent, so she asked mentally, _What's wrong?_

 _Nightmare,_ came the curt response.

She scoffed at that— _tell me something I don't know._

No reply.

Frowning, she pushed further. _Was it the desert again?_ That would explain why he'd made a point to sit in the rain. . .

But that didn't ring right. They'd both dreamt about that barren, endless desert for so long, she knew all too well the feelings it evoked: the helplessness, the confusion, the sense of being _lost_. Like, for a moment, she didn't know who she was.

She knew exactly who she was. She was Leia, daughter of Darth Vader, sister to Luke, and heir to this entire galaxy.

So she wasn't surprised to hear the curt reply, _No._

_Then what was it?_

No response.

 _Luke. What_ —

_It was about you and Father, alright?_

It was the tension in his voice that gave her pause, the fraying anger she knew so well but had never had directed at her before. He reserved that for the people who deserved it—Rebels, traitors, particularly annoying Moffs.

This must have shaken him more than she'd thought.

Though the fact she'd found him standing in a rainstorm was proof of that.

She was about to ask him to show her the nightmare when he said, "What do you think of Father's. . . revelation?"

"Revelation?" she asked.

He smirked—enough for her to hope that the storm had passed. "Shut up. You know what I mean."

Her smile fell. "I do. I. . . don't know how to feel about it. Angry," she added, "of course. Palpatine _created_ everything Father is today—why would he ever doubt his loyalty enough to betray him in a way that would _guarantee_ his _disloyalty_?"

"That's a riddle if I've ever heard one."

"And yet _you_ know what _I_ mean, so answer the question, idiot." And, before he could argue that she hadn't directly asked him any question, she said— "The question being, what do you think of it?"

He laughed, but sobered quickly. "I don't know either," he admitted. "If Father trusts that what Aphra found was accurate, then I trust him"— _Yes_ , Leia thought, _of course you do_ —"but I want to know _why_ it was there. I can't believe it was what we're all convinced it was. Palpatine has never hurt us before now, nor Father. Why should we—" He swallowed.

 _Why should we_ not _trust him?_

"You're right," Leia realised. "He hasn't hurt us for failing him." Not that they'd ever failed him, not severely, but that was beside the point.

But Luke looked struck by it suddenly. "He hurts the Inquisitors," he pointed out.

"Yes, but we're above them. We're better than them. They're nothing."

"I know," Luke argued, "but—"

"But?"

He looked up to meet her eye, and she regretted her tone.

Argumentative tactics were to be used against Imperial senators, against the nobility, against Palpatine in their lessons. They were not to be used against her brother.

But she'd used them against her father that evening. . .

She looked away, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.

"It's nearly dawn," Luke said, breaking the awkward silence. He attempted a smile; she attempted one in return. "We should get some sleep before the interrogation in a few hours. We'll probably need it."

"Yeah." She nodded. "I agree. And Luke—" She paused. She hated this hesitancy between them, when she knew him as well as she knew herself. Vader's revelation had knocked the breath from both of them and sent them spiralling into uncertainty. "Just. . . be careful tomorrow. I have the feeling the Emperor knows that something's wrong."

"He mentioned it to you?"

"In a way." She grimaced; he laughed. It was a nervous laugh, more a gasp of relief than something with humour in it, but it alleviated tension nonetheless. "Oh, shut up."

"It's just—" He shook his head. "I don't know what to do. I'm so confused."

She hugged him.

He was wet, and now she was wet as well, but she squeezed him all the tighter when he hugged her back. His downcast, _lost_ expression. . . his tone of voice. . . he'd needed a hug.

And maybe she'd needed one too.

"I'll see you in the morning," he murmured. "You sure _you'll_ be alright?"

She hated how well he could read her, but she loved it as well.

"I hope so," she whispered back. " _Force_ , I hope so."

He rubbed her back gently, and she buried her face in his chest. For a moment, they both felt almost safe.

But, truth be told, they both had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

Dawn saw a stiff, awkward speeder trip to the Imperial Palace, Luke and Leia pointedly not looking at each other.

They arrived at the Palace still in that same silence. Luke tried to break it by offering Leia a smile as they exited the speeder, and she smiled back. But he could still feel the tension as they walked to the throne room behind their father, further apart than usual.

Luke spent the whole walk building up his mental shields, wall by wall, piece by piece. He looked exhausted, he knew, but held himself rigidly anyway. He hadn't slept much the previous night, and now he felt like death.

But he couldn't let himself broadcast his thoughts. He couldn't let himself betray his family.

The heavy doors opened at their approach; they wasted no time with approaching the throne. Dawn tinted everything gold through the large windows, setting off the diamonds in the ceiling like sparks raining down. Palpatine was a shadow against it; fitting, considering the feel of his creeping presence through the Force. It felt calm for now—mildly curious, which set Luke on edge, but it didn't seem too relevant to them. Just. . . calm.

The calm before the storm?

He shook himself minutely. He was getting paranoid.

"Lord Vader, children," Palpatine greeted as they stood their places off to the side, Vader standing directly on his right. The Inquisitors who were meant to be present already were—the Sixth Sister's head was turned towards Luke, mask revealing nothing. "You're here. Good. We can begin."

There was a light tap against Luke's mental shields. He instinctively strengthened them, then realised it was Leia and relaxed.

_You don't have to look so on edge._

_I'm trying. Not all of us are stellar actors._ Because he could feel the conflict and tension roiling inside of her as well—it just didn't make it onto her face.

_No. Some of us are terrible actors, and are going to get the rest of us killed._

He flinched, then felt her regret a moment later. Surreptitiously, she slipped a hand into his and squeezed.

She let go immediately after, but the gesture helped.

Palpatine waved his hand to the red guards in the room. "Bring them."

They bowed, and four left momentarily. They were soon back, escorting two humans. One—a young woman with a plait that was half falling apart—walked unaided, albeit slowly. Her pain resonated in the Force.

The other was dragged. He didn't seem conscious.

They were both dumped onto their knees at the bottom of the stairs, in line with where the Inquisitors stood. Palpatine stared down at them with narrowed eyes—Luke could tell he was going to enjoy this.

The woman lifted her chin to sneer at him. Even the barely-awake man stirred his head slightly to glare. They had the same pinched features, the same pale hair, even the same shredded uniform of a project overseer on Kuat. He assumed they were siblings—twins, even, from the similarity in ages.

Like him and Leia.

"Velt, your name is, isn't it?" Palpatine asked with faux politeness. "Omul and Teela Velt. Your father was an overseer on Kuat as well; you took over his job between you five years ago, after he died under mysterious circumstances."

The faked regret in his voice as he said _mysterious circumstances_ made it perfectly clear what had happened. The man must have had Rebel sympathies as well.

The Rebels stayed silent.

"Still keeping up with your resolve not to speak?" Palpatine mused. "I suppose you think you're strong, holding out this long, but everyone breaks eventually."

Luke ground his teeth together—he knew Palpatine was trying to scare them, and wasn't above using lies to do that, but these fallacies annoyed him. Strength had nothing to do with how long someone held out.

Especially when the information gleaned was false, anyway.

"The interrogators haven't got anything out of you so far, but we _will_ get it. If you are hiding Amidala's whereabouts, I can assure you—"

Luke stopped listening to his grandstanding long enough to study the twins: the way the man, even barely aware of his surroundings, subconsciously shifted to shield his sister from the Emperor; the way the woman laid a gentle hand on his head to keep him down and resting.

"Luke?"

He broke himself out of his reverie. "Yes, Master?"

"Begin."

He swallowed. He knew what Palpatine wanted him to do.

Actual, physical torture was not his forte. He disliked inflicting pain. It disappointed his father, he knew, which only made Luke angrier at himself—the one thing he _never_ wanted to do was disappoint him—and yet he just _couldn't_. He couldn't do it. It destroyed him to do it.

But, fortunately for him, he was _very_ good at sensing people's emotions.

Even if they shielded information from him, they couldn't shield how they reacted to what he said.

And if that skill was required to protect the Empire. . .

So be it.

He took several careful steps down the stairs, his black boots clicking against the floor loudly. It echoed in the room much the same way the rasp of his father's respirator did.

He watched Teela Velt's expression stiffen as he approached, her eyes widening infinitesimally, but it wasn't enough.

"I will ask you once," he said coldly, stopping in front of her. "Do you know where Amidala is?"

It was a hunch, wording it like that instead of an outright demand for the information. These two had clearly been highly placed spies, so it was _possible_ they knew where the coded messages had come from.

But he didn't think this attack had been Amidala's idea.

There was no answer from the woman.

He reached for the Force. The dark side was a pervasive thing, coiled and hissing in the back on his mind. Most days it whispered; now he fed it to a roar, and felt his chest grow cold.

 _Now_ he could feel the emotions, like brightly-coloured heat signatures on an infrared readout. The violet of Leia's concern, the dark, dark blue of his father's pride and the Emperor's satisfaction. But he was focused on the sharp yellow terror inside Velt, like the edges of a flame.

He decided to push for the flame's core.

"You are _Rebels_ ," he started slowly, rolling the words on his tongue.

Velt didn't react. Her horrified gaze was fixed on his. " _Demon_ ," she hissed.

"You're Rebels. Your father was a traitor to the Emperor"—he fought to keep his face impassive, detached, from the idea of being in that situation—"so when he was assassinated five years ago, you thought the logical thing to do was become traitors yourselves."

His voice wasn't mocking, but the words were. That terror reddened into something akin to anger—anger born of defensiveness—before blooming into the crimson stain of _hatred_.

"Your brother"—a brief flash of lilac worry for him; good, that was exactly what he needed—"has received no more than he deserves, in my opinion." That was a slight extrapolation, but a necessary one. "As have you. Your terrorist actions and leadership caused hundreds of thousands of civilian deaths on Kuat alone, even without accounting for the chaos and terror spread by guerrilla attacks throughout the rest of the galaxy."

He waited to let the guilt fester for a moment, only to find none. Interesting. So that had been expected, not a loss of control on the Rebels' part, as they'd assumed. Most of the Rebel Alliance tried to be more _noble_ than that.

 _Most_ of them.

"Has Amidala abandoned their high-handed ideals?"

He waited for the same lilac worry for her leader, like the one she'd felt for her brother, but there was none. Her mind was colourless—indifferent.

She stayed silent.

"I'll take that as a no," he said into the cloying quiet. He could feel the room's attention on him—Vader and Palpatine knew he'd found something. "To my original question." Confusion clouded her mind. He explained, "You _don't_ know where Amidala is. You weren't even working for them."

Sudden, explosive panic, flashing every colour in the spectrum like the pulsating of a sun's corona—

"You were working for Saw Gerrera." He smiled tightly. "And Saw Gerrera's a nuisance, but more useful to us alive and active than dead." It made it so much easier to mobilise Imperial citizens against the terrorism threat when they had men like Gerrera making themselves their enemies already.

He turned his back on her, but couldn't resist throwing one last jab over his shoulder— "So, with this uprising failed, you've been fighting for the last five years for nothing."

" _Not_ for _nothing_ ," she spat. Her rage was incandescent by this point. He turned back to face her. "I fight because I refuse to kneel before a tyrant and his executioner!" She glared at Palpatine and his father, then her eyes shifted to him and Leia. "Nor their future replacements."

He swallowed, trying to ignore the rapid beating of his heart as he looked her up and down, hunkered over on her knees, and said coolly, "Look where you are now."

But—

It had been easy to forget last night's turmoil while he was interrogating her. He'd slipped into the role without a thought, taking those chaotic emotions and using them for the dark side, to serve his master.

Now, it all rushed back at one word:

_Tyrant._

His father had used it to describe Palpatine.

 _Tyrant_.

A man who placed a transmitter in the body of his most trusted servant could certainly be called that.

And—

_Future replacements._

He was aware the shock was showing on his face, a caricature of just how much the words shook him. He was thankful only Leia was at the right angle to see it—there was a tap on his mind, _are you alright_ —

Was— was this _Rebel_ calling _Leia_ a _tyrant_?

Leia would be a fantastic Empress. That was _fact_. She'd trained in it, she was born for it, she was _brilliant_. It was almost her birthright. That this _lowly, insignificant Rebel_ , would _dare_ insult _his sister_ —

And—

 _Executioner_.

Was _that_ what she thought his father was? A common executioner, someone who flaunted their power, murdered anyone who disagreed and justified it with law? Useful only to their master as long as they obeyed? That was the sort of person Luke would _despise_.

But then he thought about it.

He thought of the endless campaigns his father had been on—the death toll. _Collateral_ , he'd called it, or _Rebels getting what they deserved_.

He thought of the transmitter, built in to shut him down the moment he stepped out of line.

He thought of the Super Star Destroyer whose construction these very spies had overseen: the _Executor_.

And finally he thought of himself, as his father's _future replacement_.

It was an honour, he told himself. If he was good enough—

—if he was _violent_ enough—

He didn't know.

Leia was still tapping on his mind.

He didn't know anything.

There was a storm in his chest.

"You don't know where Amidala is," Palpatine mused behind him. "Unfortunate. You did well, Luke, to understand this before we wasted our time." Luke hadn't looked away from Velt, face still shocked—her confusion grew with every moment. "Dispatch of her."

His lit his lightsaber.

The confusion turned to terror.

But he couldn't run her through.

It was ridiculous, but she'd instinctively shifted so her brother, now drifted back to unconsciousness, lay on the floor behind her. The positioning harkened back to his nightmare.

A twin sister staring up at him as he ran her through, the prone body—dead or alive?—of a relative behind her.

Teela Velt looked _nothing_ like Leia. She _was_ nothing like Leia.

Leia was worth so much more than her, she was his _sister_ , and Teela was a _Rebel spy_ who'd _brought this on herself_ , _deserved_ _it_ —

But even as the lightsaber hummed in his hand, he couldn't bring himself to move it.

He couldn't run her through.

"What are you doing, boy?" Palpatine asked. Curiosity, worry, a slight snap of anger. "Kill her!"

 _Kill her_ , a voice in his head said. It might have been Leia or his father; he didn't know.

His thumb hovered over the activation button. He was about to switch it off—

And there was a sickening _snap_.

It jerked him out of his daze, taking a half-step back. Velt had collapsed to the floor, neck at an odd angle. She was dead.

He turned to look at Leia, who nodded at him.

Then he looked up at the throne.

His eyes found his father first—even with the dark side rapidly bleeding away from him again, he could feel his disappointment. His gaze shifted to Palpatine, and he flinched.

The Emperor was staring at him with enough malice to make his skin crawl.

He lifted his hand.

A scream ripped out of Luke's throat. His knees hit the floor hard, his nerves alight. The Force Lightning subsided after a moment; through the ringing in his ears, he could just make out Palpatine's voice, coming closer.

"I gave you an order, _boy_. I expected it to be followed through." Luke, pushing himself up on shaking muscles, saw him lift his hands again. "You have never had a problem with this before."

Leia stepped forward. "Master, he—"

She was thrown to her knees as well by the lightning, though it let up quickly. "And _you_. I will deal with you later—you _do not interfere with my justice._ "

Luke saw Leia bow her head, saw her mouth the words _this is not justice_ , but he was glad she didn't say them aloud.

Palpatine turned his attention back on him. Luke met his gaze stoically.

He refused to scream as the onslaught began again, but he heaved, hands scrabbling for purchase on the floor. He could feel the Inquisitors staring at him in a surprise and glee, and a violent resentment rose in his gut. It was _them_ who were meant to be tortured this way, not him, he was _Luke—_

He had no name.

Neither did they.

He'd never taken such offence to it before, but now it felt like a punch to the gut. He was _above_ them, except he wasn't, and he hated them because of it.

And he hated his father, too, for never giving him a name—but also for never telling him otherwise.

And when he forced himself to look up at Palpatine, tears streaming down his face, he hated him more than anything.


	3. For the Future

Her father took her back to the apartment with a warning glance and a curt admonishment. The first thing Leia did upon arriving was punch the window.

Pain burst in her knuckles like crimson stars. It sharpened her senses, gave focus and direction to the sandstorm in her chest.

She punched the window again.

The _thud_ it gave was incredibly satisfying. There was no crackle of broken glass—these windows were designed to keep back assassins; her punch would do _nothing_ —but there _was_ the crackle in her knuckles. Despite herself she whimpered, glancing down to see hot blood smeared across the window, leaking from her hand.

She pulled her hand back and let the blood drip onto the floor. The cleaning droids would no doubt have her head for that—it wasn't like it was the _first_ time she and Luke had given them cause to get blood out of the carpet—but right now, she didn't care. The pain as she flexed her hand was a welcome one.

She eyed the window again.

"Don't," her father said. She turned her head to see him standing next to the table and the sofa, arms crossed across his chest, impassive. "You will only cause injury to yourself."

"Yeah, well, I've already been electrocuted today," she bit out, "so what's one broken hand on top of that?" She raised her arm—

And found she couldn't move it. It was frozen up there, immobile.

After a moment it snapped down to her side just as inexorably.

"Don't," Vader repeated, releasing his Force grip on her arm. "Abusing the window will not change what happened."

"I don't even know what _did_ happen," she snapped.

"Nor do I. But I'm sure Palpatine will get to the bottom of it during their discussion."

"I can't _believe_ you left Luke with him," Leia seethed. Vader had had to drag her kicking and screaming out of that throne room, even after the Inquisitors, guards and Rebels had been ordered out and Palpatine had insisted he _just wanted to talk to him_. "He just _tortured_ us, embarrassed us in front of the Inquisitors—"

"The opinions of the Inquisitorius are _nothing_."

"—and you _really_ believe he won't harm Luke?" She sneered. "Maybe he'll even stick a transmitter in him, make sure nothing like this ever happens again."

Vader had gone very, very quiet.

Leia couldn't bring herself to regret the words.

Her father tried, "Luke will be fine. He has never disappointed the Emperor before, and I'm sure whatever weakness caused this will soon be purged. He is too valuable to be alienated." There was something bitter in the words.

"So he tortures him?" Leia's thoughts always came back to that. Her brother had had a single moment of weakness— _one_ —and she'd stepped in to keep him from caving and shattering in front of the entire throne room.

And Palpatine had electrocuted them both for it.

Was it a moment of weakness himself—had his anger consumed him? Had he lost control?

It wasn't unlikely. Anger _characterised_ the Sith: it was in her father's every move, embedded in his very psyche; it flickered in the Emperor's yellow eyes and crouched behind his half-snarl half-smiles.

But Palpatine was always ruthlessly in control of it.

He had been angry at her before. He hadn't hurt her before.

She clenched her fists, feeling pain shooting up her right hand.

What had Luke done?

Why had he done it?

What was going on?

"Luke failed," Vader said, though the words seemed reluctant. "Those who fail him are punished with pain."

 _You have never failed him before now,_ was implicit in the words.

Leia scoffed. "Are _you_?"

A moment of silence.

Leia's eyes blew wide. "Oh, _Father_ —"

Vader held a hand up. "It is of no import," he said. "The events of today have only solidified my resolve. You and Luke are only seventeen; you have not given him much cause to punish you yet, but you _will_ in the future. Even if you have done no wrong— _which can be debated about regarding today's events_ ," he added when he saw her mouth open, "you will bear the brunt of his wrath. I will not allow this. Palpatine has to go."

He was watching her carefully. "Will you support me in this?"

She cradled her injured hand to her chest and looked out the window, over the bright night of Coruscant to where the Imperial Palace stood, the brightest of them all.

She probed her bond with her brother, but found it closed off for now. Whatever was going on over there between Luke and Palpatine, neither of them wanted her to know what it was.

She pinched her lips together and sighed. "I need to talk to Luke."

* * *

Luke's muscles had still been shaking from the pain, his body curled in a foetal position on the floor, when everyone else filed out. He was hyperaware of all the mocking glances sent his way by the Inquisitors and he burned with it—though whether the heat came from shame, anger or somewhere in between, he didn't know.

He'd been barely aware of Palpatine ordering Leia and his father to leave as well, of Leia refusing to go, standing stoically between him and Palpatine until she'd been dragged away shouting. He couldn't tell much more than flickering shadows through his eyes, but through the Force her protectiveness was stark and clear; it made him feel better, almost.

But then she was gone, and so were the guards, and he was left alone with the Emperor.

He'd uncurled from the floor, enough to stare warily at the man—eyed the offered hand, expecting a trick or a rejection but also a punishment if he didn't comply. Accepting his offer of assistance felt like a mockery of his childhood, where he was a grandfatherly figure always ready to help him up.

Now, Luke couldn't be sure he wouldn't help him up just to push him back down again.

But no such blow came. Instead, Palpatine—much stronger than his frail appearance suggested—had helped him to the steps up to the dais and let him collapse onto them, limbs trembling with the effort.

Palpatine seated himself beside him—and wasn't that a horrifyingly comical image, the Emperor sitting on the floor with black robes pooling around him?—and waited.

Luke hadn't known what they were waiting for, but he'd complied. They were still sitting in silence now, his breathing slowly starting to even out, his head starting to clear. The tremors faded from his body.

It was only when his headache had almost entirely receded that Palpatine asked, "How are you feeling, my boy?"

Luke glanced up at him, but the expression seemed sincere. Non-threatening.

_Just like it had earlier. . ._

"Good," he choked out. "I mean, better. Than before."

Palpatine smiled. It looked forcibly pleased—in fact, Luke didn't think he'd ever seen him smile _warmly_ , without some sort of glee, pride or even sadism to it. The warmth didn't suit him. "I'm glad."

They lapsed into silence again.

Luke carefully tried to push himself up on his elbows, only to hiss when pain lanced down his spine. Palpatine instantly put a hand on his arm to gently push him back again. "No, no—don't get up. After we're done here I'll summon a medic and we'll have you checked up."

Luke wanted to ask what they were even doing here, but he bit his tongue.

Palpatine noticed.

"Come, my boy, has that cowed you so badly? Speak your mind—you and your sister always have the most insightful thoughts."

It was something he said often. At least, the tone of compliment was familiar, the respect for them. Or, perhaps, respect for their _abilities_.

 _A powerful servant is still a servant_ , his father had said.

His mind was wandering, his eyes glazed. Palpatine brought his attention back to him with a tap and a sharp, "Luke?"

He jerked his head up. "Yes, Master?"

Palpatine studied him for a moment more, then he laid a wrinkled hand on his knee. It was an affectionate gesture. "Luke," he asked, voice just as gentle, "what happened just now?"

A breath.

"I. . ."

Luke couldn't answer.

How could he? He didn't even know himself.

And of the parts he _did_ know. . . he couldn't sell out his father.

So he told at least a half-truth as he bowed his head and said, "I don't know, sir."

"Because I do," Palpatine said. Luke's gaze snapped to his, panic rushing through his chest. How could he know— "You were _disobedient_."

There was disdain in the word, but also something else. . .

Through the Force, Palpatine was amused.

 _Amused_.

At _him_?

Resentment flashed through him, startling in its intensity. The all-encompassing loathing he'd felt before, writhing on the ground in agony, began to fester in his gut.

"I gave you an order, and you refused to follow it through. You were disobedient." He shook his head. "I am. . . disappointed."

Despite the hatred, Luke couldn't help the stab of shame at those words.

"You and your sister— I forget, sometimes," Palpatine said, sighing, "that you are not infallible. No one can be. The Inquisitors are certainly not, which is why I see them punished so much more often than you. They are lesser, less powerful, with less potential to rule. Your father, also—he is a good instrument, but a blunt one."

Luke bristled. He opened his mouth to object—

Palpatine chuckled. "Your loyalty to your father is commendable. I know you idolise him—as well you should. He is a great man." He patted Luke's knee. "But you, my child, have the potential to become an even greater man."

Luke shook his head, more in denial than disagreement. He didn't understand that.

"Oh, it's true, I assure you. You know that once I am gone, your sister will become Empress. When she does, you will have to be as invaluable to her as your father is to me. You will be her closest confidant, her most trusted hand."

 _She won't stick a transmitter in me,_ Luke thought.

Palpatine's face hardened, though Luke doubted he'd heard the thought. He wasn't as skilled at mind-reading as he wanted them to believe. "There will be no room for failure. You would do anything for your sister, wouldn't you?"

"I'd give her the moon."

Palpatine's expression softened once more. "Then you _cannot_ fail, or you will only hurt her by the consequences of your actions. And imagine if you gave her reason to punish you." Palpatine winced. "It would destroy her if she had to do it."

 _But she would do it_ , he left unspoken.

She wouldn't.

Luke knew Leia better than anyone—better than he knew himself. Leia wouldn't.

But Palpatine could never understand that.

So he just nodded along, revelling in this one tiny victory he had over him.

"You are a fantastic warrior, Luke, and very strong with the Force. But one thing you lack is _discipline_. When your master—whether that be me, or Leia—tells you to do something, _you must do it_."

Palpatine shook his head. "The fault is all mine, I suppose. I should have taught you better. But I am teaching you now.

"Your father requested you and your sister be transferred to work on his flagship. I see now that I cannot grant that request. Instead, I am assigning you to work in the Imperial Archives, to teach you some much-needed patience and humbleness."

Luke shot upright, ignoring the way his back twinged in protest. "Master—!"

"No, Luke. This will teach you what you need to know. It will make you _better_."

Luke just stared at him.

The Archives were stored in the very base of the Palace, presided over by snappish officials who loathed anyone from the outside world. At least one copy of every piece of paperwork on Coruscant from the last twenty years was stored down there, and working in the Archives meant you had to _organise_ it all.

It sounded horrible.

"You need to learn your place, my child," Palpatine soothed, anticipating his outburst. "You have all the power you need to take your father's place, but you need to learn how to serve."

 _A powerful servant is still a servant_.

Luke bowed his head. He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice as he said, "Yes, Master."

"Good." Palpatine smiled at him. "Now, I'll summon a medic and then you should go home.

"I'm sure your father and sister are _very_ worried about you."

* * *

Palpatine watched the boy leave the room with a deep sense of vindication.

He'd sensed the rebelliousness, the resentfulness, the hatred in him—how could he not? But despite his father's burgeoning plans to overthrow him, Luke still didn't have the spine to be a credible threat to Palpatine.

He remained, as he always had been, an incredible asset.

It would be amusing if he let this little Skywalker rebellion run its course, he mused. He hadn't had a real challenge to his power in seventeen years, and all three of them would certainly be a worthy adversary. But he'd cancelled Operation Cinder in favour of handing his Empire to the twins when he passed—the idea of them idolising him, teaching the future to idolise him, until he went down in history with a dynasty that spanned generations, was far too tempting.

He had their hearts—just as he'd had their father's from the moment he met him, aged nine. If he played this game well enough, he could teach Leia exactly what this would teach Luke: that they may wield as much power as they wanted, rule over as many worlds as they so wished, so long as they were subservient to him.

 _He_ was the master. He always had been.

His word was law. His word was justice, despite what the insolent girl had muttered to herself. His will was the only will that mattered.

He would teach this lesson to them, and they would teach it to the rest of the galaxy.

And if he underestimated the depth of their hatred for their torturer? If he underestimated the strength of their bonds with one another?

Well, that would just make the game that much more interesting.

* * *

Leia had wrapped her hand in a bacta patch and paced until Luke returned.

He dropped the shielding that kept out her worried attempts to reach him once he brought the speeder to a stop outside the door. The moment she felt his presence, heard his footsteps, she ran at him and hugged him.

He hugged her back. He was trembling slightly.

She reached for his hand, alarmed. "Are you—"

"It's fine," Luke assured her. "The medics said it'll wear off in time. They also said that you should go to them for a check up in the morning, seeing as he attacked you too."

"For a few seconds." Her tone was oddly defensive, her arm coming up to rub her bicep self-consciously. "You were on the floor forever."

"It was a few minutes."

"A few minutes too long!" she snapped, moving them to sit on the sofa. "And he'll do it again. Father says it's what he _does_ to the people who fail him, even if we're better than the Inquisitors—"

"Maybe we're not."

She jerked back. " _What_ did you say?"

Luke shrugged, then winced at the gesture. "Maybe we're not better than the Inquisitors. We're treated the same, aren't we? I thought we weren't," he added, reading her objections before she voiced them, "but why?"

"We're better at our jobs than they are. We fail less than them."

"And father fails less than us," he bit back, "but that doesn't mean he's _better_. At least not according to Palpatine, who was just saying how he thinks I'm going to be a _greater_ _man_ than he is." Disgust swamped her—she wasn't sure whether it was Luke's or her own.

Of course Luke would be a greater man than their father. For Luke, who idolised the man, it might be harder to swallow, but it was clear as day to anyone else—even Vader. He saw in Luke everything he could have been, and wasn't.

But she knew that wasn't what Palpatine had been referring to.

She was familiar with the rule of two—master and apprentice—even if they didn't practice it.

It was a rule of strength—and the moment someone was stronger than either of them, then that someone replaced them.

Luke did not want to replace their father. He loved their father.

And nor did he want to serve directly under Palpatine.

"He punishes Father, you know?" she said into the silence. "I was arguing with him earlier, and it came out. Whenever Father displeases him in the slightest, he electrocutes him as much as he can without short-circuiting his suit. Father never objected to it."

She said the words with the half-sneer, half-frown that they both knew so well. Their father's more. . . careless. . . tendencies had never ceased to worry them.

She felt fresh anger flash through Luke. He sat, closed his eyes, hands clenching into fists on his knees.

Torturing _him_ was one thing.

Torturing Leia for a handful of moments in a fit of rage was crossing a line.

But consistently torturing their father for some tiny reason, then keeping it a secret from them? Causing his idol so much unnecessary pain, when they all knew he already suffered enough?

That was just—

"You've made a decision," Luke said quietly, "haven't you?"

She smiled. He knew her so well. "I've decided to support Father in his coup," she said. She knew there were no holocams in this room, which was a blessing—the words rang like a death knell. "I wanted to run it by you before telling him."

"You know that whatever he and you do, I'll support you," Luke said.

Leia smiled some more. "And you're angry at him."

"And I'm angry at him," he conceded, an answering smile beginning to form on his face. "I don't want him running this Empire, and I don't want him hurting us anymore.

"I'm in."


	4. Blue Light

The next morning, Luke had to report to the Imperial Archives.

The room was in the same place as it had been when it'd held the original Jedi Archives, he believed, from before Palpatine had converted the Jedi Temple into the current Imperial Palace. It was the centre for all wisdom and documentation in the Empire, well lit, with rows upon rows of shelves of just datapads after datapads after datapads—

He swallowed. The blue glow, the sun shining through the high windows. . . It was almost a cheery place for all that it conformed to traditional Imperial minimalism, but it made his eyes hurt.

As he stepped in, several officers perusing the documents turned to stare. They recognised him, he sensed, and they were none too pleased he was here.

His father wasn't exactly _popular_ with the officers whose friends he murdered, after all.

But he ignored them, his lip curling slightly. He'd been ordered to report to the head librarian, so that was what he would—

"Excuse me," a voice snapped behind him, "but I assume you're the boy sent down here to be disciplined?"

Ire surged at that, but Luke turned. The woman who'd spoken was sitting at a console behind her desk, glaring at him.

He stepped forward. "I'm—"

"Vader's son, yes, I know." She waved it away. "I'm Ittes Horada. You'll be working under me. Give me your lightsaber."

Luke's hand darted to it. "What? No!"

She glared at him. Her pale eyes were like two chips of glass. "Boy, the last time a lightsaber was allowed in here, Jocasta Nu erased all the data in the Jedi Archives. The Emperor was furious, and my predecessor didn't survive it. I will not have that happening on my watch."

_Jocasta Nu_ — "But that happened seventeen years ago!"

"Correct, and I haven't survived this long by taking risks. No weapons allowed in the Archives. Hand it over." She held out one large hand, palm up.

Luke hesitated, seething. He ran a thumb over the hilt. This was _his_ lightsaber, a gift from his father to show how proud he was when he'd finished his training, and he would _not_ hand it over.

This lightsaber was one of the few things that make him unique, _better than_ , the rest of the galaxy and Palpatine's playthings. The indignity of giving it up—

He thought of recent events.

He didn't want to think about indignity.

And that lightsaber did nothing to separate him from the Inquisitors. They all bore lightsabers, all nameless, all the targets of the Emperor's wrath—the differences which had once seemed so stark were starting to recede rapidly.

Horada's eye twitched. "Oh, don't be so dramatic. You'll get it back once you leave."

Begrudgingly, Luke curled his fingers around the lightsaber and passed it to her.

She opened a drawer and set the lightsaber down in it with a _snap_. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" She moved on before he could reply, which was probably for the best. Immediately getting himself into hot water with his overseer wasn't the wisest thing he could do."Now, you arrived earlier than I was told to expect you, but I've finished all my other tasks so I'll show you around now."

Luke took a step back as she stood from her desk—he hadn't noticed as she was sitting down, but she was _tall_. She towered over him; even her uniformed shoulder and the wiry silver hair plaited over it was slightly above his eye line.

"You will report here at eight am standard time and be expected to stay until four—excepting an hour lunch break to be taken whenever you want, provided you inform me beforehand. It _is_ a longer shift than most of our assistants are given," she admitted, lips pressing tightly together, "but it is as His Excellency has ordered for you. I will assign you tasks throughout your time here and expect you to complete them forthwith. When you have no work to be getting on with, you may browse the Archives at your leisure, but you are not permitted to leave these rooms."

Luke opened his mouth, a snarky reply on his lips—

"Toilets can be found through that door, on the right, and are within these rooms."

He closed it again.

She took a step forward, into the array of tables and shelves that made up the main room, and made for the stairs to the galleries. The blue light of the datapads cast her focused frown into oddly malevolent shadows; Luke hurried to keep up.

"This is our main method of organisation. . ."

* * *

No sooner had Leia woken, tapped Luke's mind to find he was already at the Archives, then rolled out of bed, than she received a message ordering her to report to the Emperor immediately.

When she reread the message on her datapad, she frowned. She had a bad feeling about this.

She was the only one in the apartment, her father probably dealing with some navy dispute, so she left a note saying where she'd gone and left, that bad feeling only growing heavier.

By the time she was kneeling in front of Palpatine, it was like a stone in her gut.

She'd been kneeling for a good minute, her head down, the picture of obedience. Usually she was allowed to get up by this point, but she bit down on her irritation. Her father was plotting a coup; Luke was in the Archives. Now was not the time to aggravate him.

"I have a mission for you, my child," he began. "Do you think you are ready for it?"

Leia frowned. "Yes, Master—I have been on missions before—"

"With your brother. This one, you will be undertaking alone."

All the breath fled her lungs.

She knew that one day they would go on separate missions. She knew that they couldn't stay within the same planet of each other forever.

But she hadn't thought that day would be today.

_Especially_ not when everything relied on them being together, their entire _family_ being together, in order for this coup to work. They hadn't set a date for it yet, hadn't _discussed_ it yet, but Palpatine sending her away immediately after they'd decided to go ahead with it seemed. . . unfortunate.

Suspiciously unfortunate.

But what could she do? Refuse?

Luke had as good as refused to kill that Rebel, and look where it got him.

"Very well, Master," she forced out through a breathless chest, glad for once that her eyes were cast to the ground. "What is my mission?"

There was a pregnant pause. She shifted where she knelt, that stone in her stomach growing heavier and heavier—

"I want you to find me Amidala."

Her eyes blew wide. Her head shot up, then she realised her mistake when her gaze clashed with cold eyes. She averted it immediately, but the objection still sprung to her lips. "Master, Amidala—"

"Has evaded us for too long. She must be found."

There was something amused in the darkness that swamped the room. She didn't know what to make of it, but whatever it was, she knew this: Palpatine found the idea of _her_ going on this mission vastly entertaining.

She dispelled it from her mind. She could seethe about it later.

"Master," she said carefully instead, "we have search parties scouring the galaxy for the Rebellion, squadrons of Star Destroyers, massive bounties—"

"And yet she has not been found." A slight smile. "I would think the future Empress should know where her greatest enemy lies."

_I do_ , she thought. _He's right in front of me._

But she didn't say that. She chose to point out, "We have no idea who she is. She might not be female—she might not be _human_ —"

"She took the late Senator of Naboo's name and exploited her legacy to gain support for her insurrection," Palpatine snapped. "Yet many of the captured Rebels have admitted to genuinely believing it's her. They're misguided and foolish, but I doubt they would be convinced by someone who didn't _look_ like her."

She couldn't argue with that, even if something. . . felt off. She just swallowed. "Very well, Master. Where should I start?"

"That's up to you, my dear. You choose where to go, which Imperial resources to commandeer, but you do not return unnecessarily to Coruscant until you have found her, or I give you permission to do so. I want this woman found, and I want her found _quickly_. Which is why I'm putting my best agent on the case." He smiled fondly at her.

She swallowed her objection— _it would go so much_ more _quickly if I had Luke to support me_ —but she knew was he was doing.

Divide and conquer.

Luke and her were closer than anything—closer than he considered _safe_. He needed to break that bond somehow, and forcing them onto opposite ends of the galaxy seemed like a good way to start.

It didn't matter.

Whether she was with him or hadn't seen him in years, Leia would tear down the stars for her brother. And she knew he'd do the same.

So she asked, "When do I leave?" and couldn't bring herself to worry in excess about it all.

Palpatine gaze burned through her. She stood there unflinching.

He smiled as he said, "Tomorrow."

* * *

Luke was bored out of his mind, but at least he was starting to get the hang of this filing business.

The Archives were constantly quiet, for all that he could feel the myriad of people around him in the Force. It was a rule to be observed, and Horada stalked round the rows ensuring it was observed well.

No one particularly wanted to cross her. Luke would have scoffed and sneered at them, but he was cowed as well—and not just by her withering looks.

He couldn't touch her. He couldn't mess up this assignment, or the Emperor would find something worse, infinitely worse, for him to do. This task was supposed to teach him obedience. He supposed it _was_ doing so, in a way.

But mainly, it was teaching him how to pick his battles.

It was not worth it to take his frustration out on any of the other volunteers. His lack of self-control would only put him in more trouble than before—and wasn't he in this situation because he'd lost control in the first place?

The blue light had started to ache against his eyes after the first hour or so; three hours away that, he was squinting just to read the monitor. _A Short History of Coruscanti Trade Wars_ , winked the holobook he was trying to transfer onto the system.

He eyed the amount of work he'd already had to do on it.

Short.

Right.

_That_ was bad enough, left him restless and antsy enough; throw in the copyright disclaimers, complaints, lawsuits and queries he'd had to file right alongside it—why would anyone _care enough_ to plagiarise this—and his head was swimming.

He was so, so sick of legal jargon.

Frustration rolled into him; he clenched his fist, and ignored the slight creaking as one of his datapads started to bend a little around the edges. _Control yourself._

He didn't know what any of this meant! This was Leia's forte!

Wasn't the Empire supposed to have _cut down_ on the Republic's bureaucracy? If this was what it was like _now_ , he couldn't _examine_ what senators' aides had had to wade through before he was born—the sooner the Imperial Senate was disbanded, the better.

He lifted his hand to rub his temple, grimacing. He stared at the console, but he couldn't make out the Aurebesh text right in front of him. It seemed to imprinted itself on the back on his retinas, but he _didn't know what it was saying_ —

"Boo."

He let out a short scream.

There was an instant _shhh_ from Horada's desk, and several sharp glares from the other volunteers or visitors. He forced himself to calm down as Leia slid into the seat next to him, smirking, and glanced at the console.

" _That's_ what that is?" she observed dryly. "I saw you staring at that thing for ten minutes."

"My eyes hurt, don't be mean," he grumbled back, massaging his head. Four hours in on the first day, and he was already _done_. "I don't know what any of this means."

She skim read it; two seconds later, she told him, "It means the copyright case failed, and the original writer was just cited as an inspiration for the rip-off."

"Fascinating," Luke drawled, but he shoved the document into the right file and pulled up the next one. "So, did you come just to mock my torment, or—"

"I'm going off-world."

He turned to her. " _What_?"

She grimaced, pinching her lips together. "The Emperor," _His_ wonderful _Royal Excellency,_ she said into his mind, startling a laugh out of him, "wants me to go search for Amidala. On my own."

"I can see the logic in that," Luke said, and did his best to keep his face straight.

Leia rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I have to leave tomorrow. And I could have told you tonight at the apartment, I suppose, but—"

"You wanted to spend as much time with your darling brother as possible?"

"No," Leia scoffed. _Yes_ , she admitted, half to herself. He heard it anyway. "I just figured I should probably do as much research on Amidala as possible before I leave, and considering you so considerately got yourself a job in the main source of Imperial information. . ."

He got the hint. He closed down the document and pulled up the search bar. "What were you going to search for? I think I've got the hang of this whole filing system."

"No doubt it'll soon come crashing down around you then," she quipped. But she leaned forward. "I've already received a particularly thorough dossier on the Rebel figure Amidala, and besides: information about her is classified. I want to do some research on her namesake, that senator from Naboo."

"Padmé Amidala?" He typed it in, and opened the file _Padmé Amidala Naberrie_ that came up. "'Human female, born on Naboo twenty seven years before the foundation of the Empire, served as Queen of Naboo from thirteen to nine BFE, then senator from nine BFE until her death during the Jedi insurrection. She was pregnant by an unknown partner when she died; her baby died with her.'" He frowned at the picture of her at her funeral, white flowers in her hair. She looked. . . familiar. "That seems a little insensitive, using the name of a beloved senator killed by the Jedi to boost support for a terrorist organisation actively aiding Jedi."

"Yeah, but it's not like Rebels are _sensitive_ ," Leia scoffed, even as Luke copied the file onto a datachip for her. "Though I can see why they thought it'd be a good idea—look how popular she was. Apparently one speech from her could turn the tides of a Senate meeting. If they could convince people she was still alive, drum up support. . ."

"You saw that picture of her dead body, right? I can pull it up again if you want."

"I'm not saying she's alive," Leia snapped, "I'm just saying that convincing people of that fact would help the Rebels a lot. Force, even the idea that she would have supported them over the Empire might hold sway."

"Are you so sure she wouldn't have, though?" While he waited for the files to finish downloading, he flicked open another page. "It says here she was a staunch defender of democracy, and refused to run for another term as queen even when her subjects wanted her to. She was also," he said pointedly, "close friends with Bail Organa."

Neither of them wanted to say it so explicitly in such a public place, but they knew what Bail Organa was like. He wasn't exactly Palpatine's favourite senator.

"She got the Emperor into the position of Supreme Chancellor," she pointed out. _She might well have been in on his plans from the start, spying on Organa, and that's why the Jedi killed her. It's not like it's_ unusual _for politicians to say one thing and mean another_ — _all this nonsense about democracy was probably just a cover up for whatever she was doing to serve Palpatine's cause. They're even from the same home planet._

_You're being harsh on her._

_She's a politician._

You're _a politician._

_Exactly. Don't I always say one thing and mean another?_

"Not to me you don't," Luke said aloud as the data finished downloading and he pulled the chip out of the console. "But I concede the point. Here's the information."

"Thanks." She accepted it, then watched curiously as he opened up another document in the folder. "What's that?"

"Her living and economic conditions once she moved to Coruscant. She was certainly paid well"— _although, if she_ was _working with Palpatine, she didn't see any monetary benefits while she was alive_ —"and her apartment looks like it was in really nice area as well." He examined it more closely then, and blanched. "Wait—"

"That's our apartment." Leia leaned forward again to squint at the blueprint that came up, the address printed next to it. "We've been living for the last ten years in Padmé Amidala's apartment."

_No wonder she looks so familiar_ , she said over their bond, and Luke relaxed to know that he hadn't imagined the whole thing.

"Interesting." A thought came to him then—terrible, horrible, _painful_.

Padmé Amidala had died pregnant.

"We should ask Father about it later," Leia continued, apparently oblivious to his turmoil. He knew that was false, that she'd sensed it. . . but she was going to wait for him to volunteer the answers, rather than pry. "See if he can give me any answers I won't find in here. He might have known her."

"Maybe." If Luke's theory was true, he had.

But if it was true, Vader would never, ever tell them so. It was too sensitive a topic.

He swallowed, and tried to dispel the thought. "I'm due to go on my lunch break in a few minutes," he said. "Want to get something to eat, before you vanish for several months?"

"I'm not going to _vanish_ ," Leia said. She didn't correct the timeframe though, and Luke felt a twinge in his gut.

But he ignored it. He had to.

It was the same way he knew he would survive without her: he would, because he had to.


	5. The Family

Luke was already at home when she returned to the apartment that evening. She peered into his room to check on him: he was asleep, his back against the head of the bed, his knees brought up to cradle the datapad lying inert in his lap. His head lolled to the side, and she could sense the bone deep tiredness radiating from him.

Apparently, staring at datapads all day had exhausted him more than even a day of sparring with her could.

She left him to snooze, seating herself in the living room to flick through the files he'd given her on Padmé Amidala instead. Joined politics at age eight due to an urge to help people, tried and failed to improve the situation on Tatooine _,_ frequently been a respected anti-war partisan during the Clone Wars—the more she read about her, the more she was sure about one thing:

Amidala _was_ Padmé Amidala.

The morals matched up in general—though admittedly, going from a staunch pacifist with a blaster to an active terrorist was a bit of a leap—and so did the timeline. Amidala had been active for as long as Leia had been alive, almost—not always _explicitly_ so, it had been years before they stopped parading Senator Amidala as a martyr and started parading her as an advocate for their cause, but their intelligence suggested she'd been involved for much longer than most of the galaxy gave her credit for.

If she'd faked her death so she could pursue her rebellion in peace. . .

Briefly, she wondered if the baby she'd been carrying had survived—if it could be used as bait against her. But she dismissed the thought quickly, and pulled up a video of her. The file had it flagged as sensitive information, but with this mission she had the codes to get into anything. She was past the security in a moment.

The blue holo materialised in the air before her. It took her a moment to register where the time, date and setting was, but the moment she did she leaned forward with great interest.

It was the moment the Empire had been founded.

_"The Republic,"_ echoed Palpatine's voice, outside of view of the holocam, _"will be reorganised into the_ first Galactic Empire _!"_

Cheering and clapping. Senator Amidala, wearing purple robes and a headpiece that somehow reminded Leia of the Rebel starbird symbol, sat stone-faced. It was the Naboo delegation's senate pod, but Organa, nearly twenty years younger, sat beside her. They exchanged a look.

_"For a safe, and secure, society."_

More cheering and clapping—practically _thunderous_ , Leia thought. It just went to show how much better the Empire was than the Republic, if even the hotbed of power-hungry, corrupt senators had rejoiced upon seeing it rise to strip away their bureaucratic powers.

Neither Organa nor Amidala seemed to share her opinion. Amidala shook her head, and there was something tragic in her young face. It hit Leia then: this woman, in this moment, was only ten years older than she was now.

_"So this is how liberty dies,"_ she said. _"With thunderous applause."_

The holo winked out.

Leia stared at the space it had once been, mind whirring. The document's legal jargon on why it had been flagged, stored and had access restricted to it explained that the words triggered some comm monitor, meant to record and contain any anti-war comments or slander. It had been active during the Clone Wars, then doubled, then tripled under the Empire. The Law of Defamation and Slander had made it illegal to even criticise the Imperial regime itself.

As for why it access had been restricted. . .

Well, Amidala had been _extremely_ popular. If this recording got out. . . they already had enough of a loyalty problem with Naboo as it was. Fear kept the inhabitants in line—and only fear.

They felt no affection for their Emperor.

Leia couldn't blame them, but it made things complicated.

There was a light touch on her mind. She glanced up to see Luke stagger out of his bedroom, hair ruffled. "Hey, sleepyhead."

"You still doing research on Amidala?" he asked her, dragging a hand across his face. He perched on the arm of the chair opposite to her and something in his demeanour sharpened, shaking off the dull edge of sleep. The boy fled; the Imperial agent returned.

Both were her brother.

She opened the recording back up and played it, watching Luke's eyebrows climb higher and higher on his head.

"Bold words."

"Censorship wasn't as bad back then."

"I figured," he said, then added, "although she _did_ die shortly after, didn't she?"

Leia closed down the file and sat back, crossing one leg over the other. "Yeah, I have a theory about that." Her gaze flicked up to meet his eye. "And if I remember correctly, you did too."

"You know me so well," Luke drawled, then he processed what she'd actually said and froze.

She could see his mind ticking, wondering what her theory could be. . . and then she saw his eyes widen as it hit him.

He said, "You think she's still alive."

Leia dipped her head. "I do. The character and traits match up with our _beloved_ terrorist leader." She watched her brother for a moment, then said, "You think she's our mother."

He gave something that was half-grin, half-grimace. "We're staying in her apartment, she was with child before she died, and have you _seen_ her picture? You two look more alike than we do."

"If she's our mother, then who was Father?" Leia scoffed. "The only man the file records her being particularly close with was _Bail Organa_. She was supposedly a friend of the Jedi, but—" She broke herself off, the point she didn't want to make turning her skin milk-white.

Luke picked up the dropped thread, and sewed it carefully into: "If she's our mother, _and_ she's alive, then we are the children of a terrorist." He winced, like the words tasted as horrendous as they sounded. "No wonder Father hates the Rebellion so much. If she betrayed him—"

"No," Leia said, shaking her head, _insistent_ , "it can't be." _I don't want it to be_ , was closer to the truth, but a flaw in most sentient beings is that they often believe what they tell themselves. Leia was no different. "One of us has to be wrong." _I will not be the daughter of a terrorist, a traitor, a_ —

"But which one?" He wasn't arguing with her, just trying to make her denial more solid. He was trying to make himself believe it as well. "Was she our mother? Or _is_ she Amidala?"

Leia said something in the tone she and her brother used whenever they knew something was a profoundly stupid idea, but wanted to go ahead with it anyway. "We could ask Father."

Luke stared at her like she was insane.

She pushed on, "We could do it tonight, before I leave."

"Sure, leave _me_ with the apoplectic Sith Lord, why don't you."

"You know you're the best at calming him down. He likes your hero worship."

"I _don't_ —"

"I'm sure you'll do fine, Luke." She shot him the sweetest smile she had.

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. We'll ask him."

* * *

There were several dozen ways that _asking him_ could have gone better, Luke thought, but also that it could have gone worse.

When he arrived home, Luke was lounging on one of the sofas with his feet propped up on the table, the datapad he'd fallen asleep reading earlier cradled in his lap again. He felt Vader approach like a black sun on the edge of his consciousness; when he heard the _ding_ of the lift arriving in the apartment he automatically shifted his feet onto the floor, but didn't lift his eyes from the screen.

When Vader strolled in, he barely needed to glance at Luke before he rumbled, not without amusement, "You had your feet on the table, didn't you?"

"You can't prove it." But he was grinning, and he could just _feel_ his father rolling his eyes behind the mask.

Vader went to walk on, no doubt to his hyperbaric chamber to get the closest approximation of sleep he could—he felt _exhausted_ through the Force—but Leia said, "Wait." She shot Luke a meaningful look. "Father, we have something to ask you."

Luke grimaced, and switched off the datapad.

Vader had frozen, tilting his head from son to daughter, mask impassive. Luke admired that about it, for all that he knew his father hated being trapped behind it—it was so much easier to keep one's thoughts a secret by wearing a mask than by controlling one's face.

There was silence for a moment.

"Ask away," Vader drawled.

Leia looked pointedly at Luke. _You're the one who's best at calming him down! You ask him!_

_You're the one who wanted to ask him in the first place!_

Leia swallowed, and said, "Palpatine assigned me to track down Amidala." Vader froze, but before he could react she barrelled on— "I've done some research on her namesake, the late Senator of Naboo, but I was hoping you might know something we couldn't find." _We_ —Leia was really throwing him under the speeder alongside her. "Apparently this used to be her apartment, so I—"

Leia stopped talking, and automatically reached for her neck. Not because their father was strangling her, he would never do that to them; Luke could feel it too, a sudden biting cold that permeated the apartment, freezing and crystallising the air around them, even the air inside their throats. It was hard to speak through—it was hard to _breathe_ through.

After a moment, Luke felt shock spasm through the Force. The room rapidly warmed again as Vader got control of himself. Luke took a deep breath, feeling the spikes of ice forming on his tongue melt away.

Vader hadn't moved. He stood silent, staring towards Leia, but not _at_ her. He seemed a thousand parsecs away.

The twins exchanged a glance.

Luke said, carefully, "Father. . .?"

"You will not speak about Senator Amidala again."

He flinched back at the sharp words, delivered in such flat, uncompromising tones. His father was almost never this harsh or cold with them; it was always the Emperor who behaved as such. . .

"But," Leia shook her head, " _Father_ —"

"Palpatine has informed me of your mission to hunt down the terrorist leader who stole her name. I do not approve, I do not like it, and I suspect he knows of our plans and is trying to keep us apart by any means necessary. Nevertheless," he growled the word, "I want you to do well. I want you to succeed. So I will tell you this: Padmé Amidala Naberrie is _dead_. She betrayed me and my Empire shortly before you were born, and I killed her for it. All the Naboo who cling to her memory are clinging to ashes and dust. There is _nothing_ to be found but pain by looking into her, so I suggest you stay away, my daughter."

He paused, then added, almost gently, "I don't want you to get hurt."

Luke wondered why he got the overwhelming impression that those words meant _I don't want to accidentally hurt you._

"Padmé Amidala is dead. Rebel terrorist Amidala is a different threat entirely, and you would do well you focus your efforts on them. Is that clear?"

A muscle twitched in Leia's jaw, but she nodded. "Yes, Father."

He stepped forward and touched her cheek lightly. "Good. I am proud of you, you know?"

Leia couldn't quite hide her smile as she ducked her head. "I know."

"And Luke?" Vader turned, his hand dropping back to his side. "I want to talk about what happened in the throne room yesterday."

Luke didn't want to talk about what had happened. He wanted to punch a wall, or the Velts, or himself. He wanted to sink into the sofa and live as a hermit for the rest of his life. He wanted to let go of all this tension inside him in one fell swoop, shattering every glass item on Coruscant with the force of his fury.

He wanted to go to bed. Hide under the covers like a child, and pretend that the world stopped existing when he closed his eyes.

He'd already spent eight hours in the Archives brooding over his failure. He didn't need his father rubbing it in.

But Vader's tone was soft, his Force sense far from angry, so he swallowed. He wanted his father's approval. The idea that he might have failed him, or disappointed him, was tearing him to shreds.

His hands clenched around the datapad; he stared down at it as Vader crouched in front of him. He couldn't see his father's gaze through the mask, but he could feel it roving over his face.

He flinched as a gloved hand came up to wipe something wet off his face. He hadn't realised he was crying.

As if sensing just how ready he was to die from embarrassment and self-loathing, Leia left the room. She knew when to tease, and when to give him space.

"Luke," Vader whispered, "I am not ashamed of you."

His head snapped up. "You—" he choked on the words. "You're not?"

"I'm not." Vader reached for his hand, and gently prised it off the datapad, placing it aside. Then he squeezed it, and didn't let go. "I'm incredibly, incredibly _proud_ of you. You and your sister are greater people than I could have ever dreamed you'd be, and I wouldn't change anything about you for the galaxy. You are my son."

Luke's vision was blurring. He blinked and fresh, hot tears spilled down his cheeks. "But I failed."

"You hesitated. They are not the same thing. And I don't know _why_ you hesitated, but I'm sure it is because you are, at your heart, a deeply compassionate person. Your mother was the same."

Luke jerked his head up at that, aware his longing was splayed plainly across his face for anyone, even his father, to read. Vader gave the smallest shake of his head.

_Another time_ , he promised, with something that sounded like heartache.

Luke deflated. He wanted to know anything, _anything_ , about his mother— _especially now you think she might be Padmé Amidala_ —but he knew that the worst thing to do would be to push.

"You are a deeply empathetic person, and that is why you're so good at what you do. You don't need to read someone's mind to understand them—you read their hearts, and make their own emotions work against them." He squeezed his hand again. "But you must make sure _your_ emotions don't work against _you_."

Luke bowed his head.

"You control them, use them to access the dark side. _They cannot control you_."

Luke knew that was an ongoing battle for Vader, whose incandescent rage had crushed many an officer's ambitions—and trachea. But as a father, he'd fought hard to beat them under control whenever he was around Luke and Leia, swearing on every star in the sky that he would not hurt them. Never.

That fight just made him love his father more.

"The Velt twins," he admitted, "they—"

"They are not you and Leia." Vader picked up on his thoughts immediately. "They were Rebels, traitors, and they risked their own lives and each other when they chose that path. You and Leia will never find yourselves in that situation, because _you are not traitors_."

"But— your plans—"

Luke could feel Vader's grimace as keenly as if it had been his own. "To whom do you owe your loyalty? Whom have you sworn it to? Palpatine—or the Empire, and the galaxy it protects?"

Luke lowered his eyes. "The galaxy."

"Then you are no traitor." Vader brushed another tear away, then cupped his cheek in one massive hand. "Palpatine has to go. You are no traitor for recognising that—you are a patriot, and a protector. _You are no traitor_."

His glove fell from Luke's cheek.

"And I know you never will be."


	6. The Name of the Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note: This fic is set loosely before/around the start of season 3 of Rebels. In terms of time and the ages of the characters, this might be ever-so-slightly off, and this fic will not conform to canon continuity 100%, but I will do my best to stick as close to it as possible. (I will also do my best to make it so you don't have to have seen Rebels to understand what's going on.)  
> Since the Inquisitors weren't seen in Rebels after season 2, and (as far as I'm aware) there's no explanation for that in canon, I made one up. Whether or not the Inquisitors were actually disbanded and/or executed in canon is a matter of opinion (and probably false), but that is the explanation I use in this fic, because it's the one that adds to the story the most.

Leia left the next morning, before eight to make sure Luke could be there to send her off. He had to dash to the Archives immediately after her ship left atmosphere, but he hugged her tightly before they both left.

"Good luck," he said into her ear. She could hear the sudden break in his voice, feel it in the way he hugged her tighter. "I'll miss you so much."

They had never been on separate planets before.

The knowledge that they were about to be punched her in the gut. She squeezed him back just as tightly, burying her face in his shoulder so that no one saw her cry. "I'll miss you too. And I'll comm you as often as I'm able to."

"I'll answer every time," Luke promised, "even if Horada murders me for it."

She snorted, then stepped back from him. He smiled at her, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

_I love you_ , he said into her mind.

_I love you too._

She gave him one last attempt at a smile, then forced herself to turn her back on him and walk up to her father.

After a moment's hesitation, she hugged him too. The hard planes and angles of the suit dug into her, but his head came to cup the back of her head and she relaxed.

A sound spat out of his vocoder that was half-laugh, half-sigh, then he rested his hand on her shoulder and looked down at her.

"I'm sure you will do well," he said, "and remember what I said. We will talk about it in more detail once you return."

Leia swallowed, wondering about the wisdom of saying that here, on a landing platform the Emperor was no doubt watching, but she didn't want to draw attention to it.

So she bowed slightly, accompanied by a perfunctory, "Yes, Father," then started up the ramp of the ship.

It was an old smuggler's ship, one which had been named the _Hidden Star_ when she'd bought it for this mission and she hadn't seen fit to change it. Its controls were decent, it handled quickly, flew faster than someone could expect for its size and make—and it had shields to make a Star Destroyer envious.

But most of all: it was nondescript. She could disappear in this ship, go anywhere in the galaxy and no one would ever find her again.

She glanced out the viewport while she strapped herself into the cockpit. Well, no one could find her but Luke.

She doubted she could ever fully manage to hide from him—if only because she wouldn't be able to bear it.

She shook the thought away.

Taking hold of the controls, she breathed in deeply then punched the sequence to start up. Within a minute everything was whirring contentedly, ready to touch off the ground and fly into the starlit sky. She glanced out of the viewport to lock eyes with her family once more—Luke gave a small wave, while Vader stood stoic—then took off, Coruscant's grey and white surface rapidly falling away beneath her.

She'd broken atmosphere within minutes, Coruscanti security scanning her transponder, spotting the Imperial insignia and falling over to acquiesce. She paused, then stared at the navicomputer.

Her father had told her to stop investigating Padmé Amidala. That there was nothing to be found but treachery and pain. But she had nowhere else to start.

There was a _reason_ Amidala had never been found before.

She grimaced, automatically running a finger along the ruthless bun on the back of her head. She tugged a lock of hair free and twisted it, a nervous habit she'd thought she'd managed to break. Now she found herself revisiting it, and she couldn't say why.

Another moment of hesitation, fingers trembling. . . then she punched in the coordinates for Naboo.

Her gaze lingered on the sparkling planet as the navicomputer calculated them. It felt as conflicted as ever, the chiaroscuro of the light and the dark as familiar to her as her own soul. And her brother's—they were both dark, Palpatine and Vader wouldn't accept anything otherwise, but when Luke smiled she thought she'd go blind.

She tapped against that brilliant light once more, then withdrew and pushed up her mental shields. It didn't help; she could still feel him, always there, always supporting her.

Then the navicomputer finished its calculations, she jumped to hyperspace, the parsecs stretched behind her, and Luke vanished as quickly as the stars did.

She swallowed, fighting the urge to cry. The bond was still there, just dormant and strained. She could still feel him, somewhat, but. . .

_But_. . .

She stared at the swirl of hyperspace.

For the first time in her life, she was alone.

* * *

Luke's head was starting to hurt again. He automatically reached for Leia to grumble—she would tell him to get a grip, as she always did, but as always it would have felt good to vent—only for her distant sense in the Force to abruptly bring him back to reality.

His mood soured, and he slammed the datapads he'd been carrying down on the table with perhaps more force than necessary. He felt several people around him bristle through the Force, but they didn't dare to object. Out of favour or not, he was still Lord Vader's son, and the Emperor's personal agent.

Good. He didn't want to deal with anyone right now.

He switched on the first datapad, and grimaced when he read the title of the file. He glanced around. He was allowed to take his lunch breaks whenever, right? Maybe he could leave this for now, then come back later—

A touch of cold glee through the Force, and he stiffened.

No. No, no, oh _Force_ no. He was still touchy from Leia's departure and his conversation with his father from last night; he _really_ didn't want to talk to her on top of that—

It didn't matter. The Sixth Sister strode through the doors and zeroed in on him anyway.

She smirked. Luke scowled.

Horada was already on her feet, snapping at the Sixth Sister to dispense of her lightsaber. Luke had no doubt it would be almost satisfying seeing her have the same argument he'd had the previous day, but he couldn't hear it from here. He had to make do with imagining it.

She approached a few minutes later, sans lightsaber, and crossed her arms over her chest. "Look at you," she commented, her visor sliding open, "working a desk job. Can't say I ever imagined you _here_. But I _guess_ , after that _abysmal_ performance in the throne room. . ."

His ire rose, choking him. He forced it back down again.

Horada would _kill him_ if he tore up the room.

His pride, anger, _hatred_ made a storm in his chest.

"Not going to reply? You got nothing to say for yourself?"

"On the contrary," he bit back, smoothly, _quietly_. The Sixth Sister kept drawing annoyed glances for her loud tone; he couldn't afford to be seen on the same level as her, or he'd never get out of here.

The Emperor had sent him here to learn obedience. Even if he spent his waking hours faking and faking and faking it, that started with keeping himself subdued.

It started with keeping himself _controlled._

What had his father said?

_You control your emotions, use them to access the dark side. They cannot control you._

"I," he continued, "am focusing. Our Emperor has given me a job, and I intend to complete it." He lifted his chin to look her straight in the eye. A single curl of red hair had escaped from under the helmet; he watched her eye twitch as it tickled. That slight imperfection was what gave him the courage to purr— "Unlike you and your brethren, who seem incapable of hunting the Rebels as ordered."

She flinched back at that, a snarl rising to her lips. That sort of quiet venom was odd coming from him, he knew; usually, that was his father's job.

His idolised father. The executioner.

More of his words from the previous night came to mind. _I wouldn't change anything about you for the galaxy._

How could his father be the monster so many people feared?

He knew how—he knew _exactly_ how. He admired him for it, planned to follow in his footsteps.

He supposed the question was: How could his father be _evil_?

"We are doing as well as can be expected in hunting them," the Sixth Sister spat. " _Your father_ did nothing but alienate the military and Lothal's administration against us, no doubt in an attempt at sabotage—"

"Actually, I think that's just what he does." Was that where the _executioner_ accusations came from? The people in question had failed in their duty to protect the Empire; the punishments Vader doled out were nothing but just—

The way _Luke's_ punishment had been?

_This is not justice_ , Leia had said.

He remembered too what the Emperor had said: _Mercy fosters loyalty._

Those punished deserved what they got. His father was sure about that, so Luke was as well. Did that mean _he_ deserved what he got? Did _Leia_?

It didn't matter, Luke realised. It didn't matter, because he wanted to kill the Emperor anyway.

_This is not justice._

"Exactly!" the Sixth Sister snapped. "That's what he _does_ , that's what you and your sister do: you make bigger problems trying to solve problems, then leave the rest of us to clear them up!"

"We just foiled a mass uprising on Kuat," Luke reminded her. There was nothing overtly threatening in his voice, but her face hardened nonetheless. "And _you_ are calling _us_ incompetent?"

She opened her mouth, sneer already fixed in place, clearly ready to say _Yes, I_ am _, you_ —

But she paused.

She closed her mouth.

Because at the end of the day, Luke and Leia had bathed the system in blood in order to do it, but they _had_ done it.

And at the end of the day, she clearly understood that the Inquisitors _never did_.

They _were_ incompetent. But not for lack of skill.

No. They were too fond of self-sabotage.

Lesser than Sith, greater than Jedi. Always reaching higher. And if you had to tear down a colleague to climb to the top. . . undo everything they'd been working on only to have to work on it yourself. . .

Luke was surprised the Sixth Sister had the honesty to admit it to herself.

And he was even more surprised at what happened next.

She pulled up a chair and sat opposite him, tapping her foot. He glared at her, confused and all the more resentful for it.

A muscle feathered in her jaw.

Finally, she said, "You're not assigned to this Rebel cell."

"No," he said. "I've never had the pleasure of interacting with Phoenix Squadron." He was starting to see where she was going with this, and he didn't know what to think.

She tried again, "You're a competent agent." Her face twisted as she said so, like she had a bad taste in her mouth.

He laughed a little, gesturing to where he was seated, the stack of datapads he still had to process. "Clearly. That's why I'm down here, and not doing the Emperor's bidding in a more specialised manner."

The joke missed her entirely. She barked a laugh, but there was no amusement in it. Luke doubted any of the Inquisitors even knew what amusement was.

She fell silent again for several tense seconds, and he took the opportunity to study her.

It was a risky move. Even if he wasn't assigned to this mission, there was no guarantee he wouldn't just take the results and use them to get himself back into the Emperor's favour. He was already considering it.

This was the Imperial Court, after all. Backstabbing was mandatory.

But she surprised him once more when she swallowed her pride—and her misgivings—and asked, "Would you, by _any_ chance, help me with the investigation?" There was only a little derision in her voice.

The question was on his lips before he was even thinking. "What's in it for me?"

She paused, then tried, "You can regain the Emperor's favour."

"If I could regain the Emperor's favour by hunting Rebels I would never have fallen out of it."

"What about by looking past your personal opinions to cooperate with someone," she pressed, " _for the good of the Empire_?"

Luke paused, considering it.

That would certainly exhibit the control and obedience Palpatine wanted. Or rather, not quite _obedience_ : more the surrender of himself, his wants and desires, to serve his master's interests. It was a step in the direction Palpatine wanted, albeit a small one.

"It won't work," he lied. "If you tell him and share credit with _me_ , it defeats the purpose of proving that you can operate with any level of competency yourself. And you don't need anything else working against you in _that_ area." She stiffened, opening her mouth— "So, _what's in it for me_?"

Palpatine would find out about the cooperation whether she told him or not—he had eyes and ears everywhere. But she didn't have to know that. If he could get something _else_ out of the deal. . .

The Sixth Sister was silent. She knew there was nothing else she could give him.

Then Luke thought: _Mercy fosters loyalty._

If he did it as a favour and demanded she repay him later, she could simply refuse. The Inquisitors had no honour; that was another reason his father despised them. He would get nothing out of it.

But if it seemed like he was doing it as a favour out of the goodness of his heart. . . that might gain sympathy, or some misplaced idea of loyalty. It might gain him and his family an ally as they went ahead.

And if it didn't, then Luke had nothing to lose, anyway.

"Alright," he said. "I'll do it."

Her head jerked up, mouth falling open. "You _will_?" He tried not to smirk at her incredulity. "Why?"

"Out of the goodness of my heart," he drawled. She clearly didn't believe it. Not for a second. But the fact was that he _was_ doing it, without any material gain.

She was smart enough to recognise that.

He leaned forward. "So," he asked, "what is it you want me to do?"

She swallowed, then said, "I heard rumours that the Inquisitorius were to be disbanded, maybe executed, if we don't succeed in this mission before someone else does." She met his gaze steadily. "And I _also_ heard that Governor Pryce is pushing to get Thrawn on the case."

Luke had heard both rumours as well, but he hadn't put them together until now. "And even if your death is your master's will, you want to fight it?"

She bristled at that—and there, again, was the unconditional, unending, almost _slavish_ loyalty he'd spoken to his father about—but he hadn't hit too far off the mark. The Sixth Sister was Palpatine's creature through and through, as his father had spoken to _him_ about. . . but she didn't want to die.

And—

"I know the Inquisitorius are worth our salt," she insisted, gripping the edge of the desk and digging her nails into the wood. "And my master has been wrong before—I'm certain that he's wrong here. If we can show him that, convince him that this is a better road. . ."

Luke said nothing for a moment, letting her trail off herself.

"Alright," he said, "but _what do you want me to do_?"

"Get Thrawn off the case." The response was immediate. "I don't care how. Discredit him, discredit Pryce, discredit Eli kriffing Vanto if you have to, but _keep him off of it_."

"Thrawn's a tactical genius. I'm sure that if he gets involved, it will be over quickly—"

"For us as well as them," she snapped. "You know that. You said you'd help me, Luke"—they both jarred at the unwanted familiarity of her using his given name; _this was what having no last name left him with_ —"so _help me_."

They kept eye contact for a few more moments before he broke it.

"I'll try," he said around the lump in his throat. Fallen from grace as he was, he wasn't even sure he could achieve _this_. "I don't know how successful I'll be," he admitted, "but I _will_ try. I promise you that."

A breath hissed out of her. It wasn't quite relief—more a slackening of tension—but it was no doubt the closest she ever got.

"And I'll gather all the information Leia and I collected on Phoenix Squadron as well," he added. It wasn't like they were using it. "I'll get that to you as soon as possible." _Entirely out of the goodness of my heart._

"I thought you said you'd never interacted with that cell."

"It pays to be prepared."

She pinched her lips together, then nodded. "Thank you."

He was taken aback by the earnestness in the words. "Don't thank me yet," he said. He glanced at Horada. "Now, you should probably go, or I'll fall behind and won't _be able_ to help you."

"Alright."

She got to her feet.

For a moment she lingered, looking like she was going to say something else—

Then Luke beat her to it. "Oh, and Sixth Sister?"

She flicked her gaze to his.

"As long as we're doing each other favours," he drew out the words, slowly and clearly, " _don't_ mention what happened in the throne room again."

Her brows creased briefly, then cleared. She smirked as she affected a mock bow—much more cheerful than the one she gave his father—and drawled, "As you wish."

He didn't contain his laugh as she made for the exit. Nor did he bother listening to her haggle for the return of her lightsaber, and instead reached for the next datapad. Then he paused.

He glanced up just as the door slid shut behind her.

He was in the Imperial Archives. They'd had detailed information on Senator Amidala; he had no doubt they would have detailed information on Thrawn and Governor Pryce when he looked.

He had to wonder. . .

Sure enough, there was a file on the Inquisitorius. He opened it, then opened the folder about the individual Inquisitors. He skim-read the document about the Grand Inquisitor, dead over a year by now. Funny, he mused, the Pau'an's failure to deal with these Rebel Jedi and subsequent death might well have been the beginning of the end for his organisation.

He made to close the whole thing, when one file caught his attention.

_Acquisitions._

He paused.

_I would have found you all the sooner_ , his father had said.

Against his better judgement, perhaps, he clicked open the page.

It was a list. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, long. Names, dates, designations. _The First Sister, the Second Sister, the First Brother, the Third Sister, the Second Brother. . ._

His eyes skipped down the list. These were the Inquisitors. The dates of _original_ _acquisition_ , the home planets the infants had been acquired from—and the names their blood relatives had given them.

The world slowed.

Every one of them had had a name, he realised. _Every single child_ had had a name, a family to love it enough to give it one. And the Empire he so loved had. . . stolen that away, to be replaced by a number. Palpatine had stolen it away.

_His father_ had stolen it away?

_I would have found you all the sooner._

Had— had he found Luke and Leia like this, as well? When their mother—because Padmé Amidala _had_ to have been their mother, he was _convinced of it_ —had 'betrayed him', had she run off with them, as well?

Had Luke had a name when Vader found him?

Had his father stolen it from _him_ as well?

He didn't know what to think anymore.

His eyes blurred, then cleared again when he blinked. The names on the screen danced back into focus, and he found himself fixating on the first line that jumped out at him.

The designation read the _Sixth Sister_.

And the name next to it read, _Mara Jade_.


	7. First Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I draw heavily on _Queen's Shadow_ by E. K. Johnston from here on in, so if you haven't read that yet but are vigilant about spoilers, proceed with caution.

Naboo was not called the jewel of the Mid Rim for nothing.

Leia glanced around as she exited the docking port. Theed's classic domed buildings arching above her. She'd changed out of her Imperial-style clothes—not a _uniform_ , per se, but too close to one nevertheless—into something more nondescript.

Well, she thought, not quite frowning down at the ruffled aquamarine top she was wearing. Nondescript on _Naboo_. She still looked well-dressed enough to invite attack in a lot of areas of Coruscant—and any number of other planets—but she supposed that if she had to blend in. . .

And it wasn't as though she _disliked_ it.

So she set off, slinging a small bag over her shoulder and hiding her lightsaber inside. Having it out in the open would just be _inviting_ questions, she knew—but that didn't mean she had to _like_ not having it immediately on hand.

She had to stick a tiny— _laughably_ tiny—blaster in there as well, and her comlink, and her identification chips, and her datapad—

She sighed.

She was going to need a bigger bag.

Finally, though, she did manage to squeeze everything she needed into one _History Students of Theed_ rucksack she bought. She slung it over her back and set off.

The first place she was planning on visiting was obvious. Padmé Amidala's tomb and accompanying gardens were a public attraction that anyone could visit, except on specific days and when her relatives requested they had private access to her memorial. Leia didn't even have to pull Imperial rank to get herself in.

Once she _was_ in, she looked around. The gardens were surrounded by a high wall, decked with a climbing plant whose scarlet blossoms she distantly recognised, but she couldn't have said more than that. The small pavilion over the entrance was an elegant thing: all pale blue stone and flowing lines. She glanced at the mosaic under her feet briefly—an image of the senator's face, still in death and frozen in art, white flowers adorning her hair—then up when there was a prickle at the back of her neck.

For a moment, she froze at what she saw.

Then the moment passed, and logic kicked in. That painting was not Palpatine.

It was a life-sized painting of him, certainly. An oil painting— _seriously?_ What an indulgence—of him standing in a Chancellor's garb, a loving hand resting on Senator Amidala's shoulder. She too was dressed in the formal clothes her work required, and they both looked happy, contented, smiling at the painting with all the satisfaction of people in power.

But in all of Leia's research, she'd never come across any mention of Senator Amidala posing for an oil painting.

"It was painted after her death," a voice behind her said, warm and friendly. "The artist's impression of what her future in the Empire might have been."

Before she'd even turned around, Leia knew the woman was a politician, a staunch supporter of democracy, and a personal friend of Padmé Amidala.

Her voice was flat and controlled while her Force sense exploded in distaste: politician. Or some sort of civil servant. Or bodyguard.

The distaste in question for Palpatine in particular and the Empire at large, plus the Naboo accent: a staunch supporter of democracy.

And a personal friend of Padmé Amidala: just how _strong_ her distaste was. Either she'd been a fanatic—which was admittedly not that far-fetched, she'd had her fair share of supporters—or she'd been her friend.

She turned to see a brown-haired woman standing behind her, dressed in clothes that blended in with Naboo's. Something about her face, her accent, the way she tilted her head, reminded Leia of the woman in the painting in a way that went beyond the simple fact that they looked similar.

She smiled at her when she met her eye, and something in her made her smile back. She was wary though—and not just because in the Force, this person was walled off as thoroughly as this garden was.

"It was commissioned for the last curator of these gardens," she continued, nodding to the portrait again, "but he didn't feel it was fitting to the tone of the place. He thought the portrait already up, of Amidala as queen, was more suitable. He died a few weeks ago."

Leia blinked at the sudden change of topic, the weight in the tone the woman said it in. Then the pieces fell into place.

A man had died because he refused to show a portrait of the Emperor in his building.

Leia was familiar with the tactic. It wasn't _law_ to always pay lip service to the Empire at the very _least_ , but one might find themselves. . . disadvantaged. . . if they didn't.

She didn't know how to feel about that.

She'd been fine with it for years. A few weeks ago, she would have scoffed and said _good riddance_. But some of Luke's nightmares and fears had started bleeding over into her mind now.

She could no longer separate _traitor_ from _family_.

And she had to wonder how that family of the dead man felt.

"Well, you didn't come to hear depressing things like that." The woman smiled at her, so Leia bit back her snarky response of _I came to visit a tomb_ —she got the hint that wasn't what she was trying to say. "Would you like me to show you around?" She glanced at the emblem emblazoned onto Leia's rucksack. "If you're doing research on her, I knew Senator Amidala personally. I can tell you things you won't find in history books." A pause, then a calculated— "For example, you look a lot like her."

Luke had said that. Leia still didn't like the idea of looking like a traitor.

_Traitor and family. . ._

But she smiled prettily—she'd certainly need the information being offered—and said, "I'd love that. It'd be extremely useful."

When they stepped out from the pavilion into the sunshine, Leia was instantly assaulted by the smell of hundreds of different types of flower.

"My name is Tsabin," the woman said as they began to wander the gardens. "I was one of Padmé's handmaidens, when she ruled as queen, and I helped her as senator for a while as well. And you?"

Leia swallowed. She didn't have the time to come up with an alias on the fly, so she just said, "Leia," and hoped this woman wasn't a Rebel who might recognise the name.

There was no flicker of recognition from his mind—but then again, with shields like those, here was barely a flicker of _anything_. It didn't put Leia's mind at ease.

The woman's distaste for Palpatine must be _strong_ if it had leaked through _that_.

"Are you on exchange from Coruscant?" Tsabin asked. "Your accent certainly isn't from Naboo."

"Yes." She didn't want to add any more to a lie she hadn't meticulously planned out, so she pretended to be very absorbed in studying a brightly-coloured flower instead.

"That's a nova lily," Tsabin added helpfully. "Padmé actually helped design these gardens during her second term as queen, and the gardeners do their best to keep it in line with how she wanted it." She paused. Leia waited for her to make conversation—it might mean she accidentally let something important slip.

She didn't know what _important_ would be, but she already had an impossible job to fulfil. She might as well do it to the best of her ability.

Finally, Tsabin asked, "Are you enjoying living on Naboo?"

Leia let her hand drop from the flower blossom. "Yes," she lied lightly, then added—because the best lies had pieces of truth in them—"I miss my family, though. My brother in particular."

"Ah, I understand. I don't have any siblings, but the other handmaidens were like sisters to me, and it was sad when we parted ways." Again, Leia didn't say anything as they turned another bend and ducked underneath a trellis of pink buds, some of them opened towards the sun.

Tsabin shot her a look. "What was the topic of your paper again? It _was_ Padmé, correct?"

Leia nodded quickly—she'd never _said_ that, but she had no problems lying. "I'm interested in how her personal ideology and policies affected her popularity."

"Well!" Tsabin said, her face lighting up as she went for the bag slung over her shoulder. "If it's her personal ideology you're looking for, you won't find much about it near her tomb—it's just about her personal life and relationships, not her politics. But I have some datachips here," she plucked three out of the bag and waved them in her hand, "with recordings of her speeches, transcripts of letters she wrote to and received from other senators or politicians, drafts of bills, as well as articles and essays she wrote in her own free time."

Leia's eyes blew wide as the woman held them out, palm up. This— it couldn't be this easy, could it? Something was wrong here.

Especially with how closed off Tsabin felt through the Force.

"I've been trying to get them published for a while now, but nowhere wants to take them. They say Amidala's of a _bygone age_." Leia had to laugh at the irony of that—if the theory she was trying to prove was correct, then Padmé Amidala was anything but _bygone_. "Feel free to take them. Maybe if you do well in your essay more people will be interested in what they have to say."

Leia waited for more, more ultimatums, more conditions, but there were none. The woman just held the datachips out, an earnest look on her face.

If Leia didn't have the Force, she might have believed it. But Tsabin's Force sense was anything but earnest.

Yet she needed that information.

Refusing it would only make this impossible task more impossible.

So she clasped her hands round the chips and dropped them into her bag. Quickly, as if they might be coated in poison.

"Thank you," she said. "It's convenient for me that you had them on you."

"It is, isn't it?" Tsabin smiled. There was something sharp about the expression, and Leia was just about to press further when the woman's comlink buzzed.

She glanced down and grimaced. "I have to go," she said. Her voice was slightly apologetic—but it was also oddly _gleeful_. "I hope you make good use of them."

"I will," Leia said. She narrowed her eyes at Tsabin's back as the woman jogged off, quickly disappearing into the flowers.

Her hand tightened on the strap of her rucksack, then she set off for the tomb itself.

Tsabin had been right—there wasn't much of any worth around the tomb or on the information panels beside it. And Leia just felt _cold_ standing there. It was like a recurring nightmare she remembered in half-snatches from when she was little, of two babies crying and a woman dying.

Padmé Amidala had been pregnant when she died.

And she _knew_ Luke had already convinced himself that—

She shook the thought away, but a spidery sense of dread lingered, skittering up and down her back.

She fled the tomb quickly enough, seeking refuge in the gardens outside—places of warmth, light, _life_. But the feeling dogged her for several hours afterwards.

And so did the thought that created it.

* * *

Sabé was sitting in the café opposite the entrance to the gardens when she saw Leia come out, brow creased in thought and confusion. The girl glanced one way and another, then set off without really taking it all in. Sabé watched her go and made a note to make sure wherever, Padmé's daughter was staying, it was safe.

Not everyone cowed before Imperial might on Naboo—least of all Sabé, but she wasn't the threat here. Something was stirring, and she didn't want the girl caught up in it.

She'd already given her enough to think about.

Padmé had wanted her daughter to know her, what she was like, and understand democracy at its heart before their inevitable meeting. After they'd found out Leia was headed to Naboo, she'd asked Sabé to plant the information chips on her to _teach_ her that—everything Palpatine and Vader certainly wouldn't have taught her.

Few had heard about Luke's misconduct in the throne room, but they had. And they could tell the galaxy was changing.

It was like planets beginning to shift out of orbit slowly, then ever faster. It was like the start of an eclipse.

The shadow was just beginning to fall. Soon all they'd have was the corona, and they would see who could survive in the dark.

* * *

Luke tucked the datachip containing everything he'd found into the palm of his hand and set off the moment he was done with his shift.

Horada barely looked up when he retrieved his own lightsaber from the draw she always kept it in. He didn't bother saying goodbye before he darted out and headed up several levels to the landing pad.

He took his speeder along the familiar route into the Works, to where he could sense the Inquisitors' training facility like a gaping wound that bled rage into the Force.

The Inquisitors were, in name, under his father's jurisdiction as much as the Emperor's, so none of them on guard tried to stop him as he halted outside and walked right in. They knew who he was—resented him, envied him, _loathed_ him, but knew him all the same. He could feel their eyes on his back as he strolled in.

The first set of doors hissed open onto an empty antechamber. Luke hesitated briefly.

If there had been anyone around to mock him for doing so, he wouldn't have. But perhaps the problem was that there _wasn't_ anyone around.

Leia should be here.

He'd never walked in here alone. He hadn't given it much thought at the time, but he'd always been with his father and Leia—he'd never had _cause_ to come here on his own.

Now it occurred to him that he was walking into a building full of people who wanted him dead, completely alone.

If both he and Leia died in one _accident_ , it would look incredibly suspicious. But if Luke died on his own. . .

He was safer with Leia.

And even if he wasn't. . . he missed her. He felt braver when they were together.

He instinctively reached for their bond, but it was still strained, stretched and thinned. There was the barest flicker of a presence there, enough to know that she was alive and unharmed, but otherwise nothing.

 _You have to learn to stand alone_ , he thought.

And standing against Inquisitors? He could beat them any day.

He took one step, then another, and strode into the complex.

As rarely as he _did_ come here, he knew the layout well. It was a straight shot forward to the sparring room, and he could hear the hum and clash of lightsabers even from here. No practice blades: Inquisitors won or Inquisitors suffered.

Sometimes—a lot of the time—it was both.

The door directly ahead of him hissed open, and he came to stand in the small gallery that overlooked the room. The red guards assigned to stand and watch along that same gallery barely tilted their heads at his appearance. They stood stock still, the light from the windows they stood beside casting eerie contours over their masks as well as illuminating the dust motes in the air, the training ring below.

Six Inquisitors spun their sabers, watching their opponent with the sort of razor distrust only they and the Emperor could ever practice. Three individual duels, each as fierce and brutal as the last; Luke hardly knew where to look.

The duellers hadn't noticed his presence yet, but the other Inquisitors, milling around the edges awaiting their turn, certainly had. The Sixth Sister— _Mara Jade_ —was down there, her mask closed off to any expression she might show. But she tilted her head upwards toward the gallery, and he knew she'd seen him.

She tilted her head slightly. There was a clumsy attempt at contact with his mind, but he waved it off before she could say anything.

 _I have the information for you,_ he replied curtly. He saw no physical reaction from her—his eyes were, ostensibly, fixed on the fights—but he felt her grudging acceptance before she withdrew. He'd fulfilled this part of his promise: he was giving her _this_ much.

Now all they needed was a way to give it to her without the other Inquisitors noticing.

Loyalty and cooperation was a shifting thing between servants of the Empire, as was perception. It was always best to cultivate your reputation, and that included who you dealt with.

So he watched, doing his best to keep a mask of careful amusement on his face, as the three duels below ended. All in all, not too brutal—someone looked like they were limping, another person was lying limp on the floor, but at least no one had lost an eye this time.

Supposedly, when his father had first started teaching the Inquisitors, he'd hacked a limb off of each of them to teach them the meaning of pain and loss. That, Luke knew, was the first step onto the path of darkness, and the first fostering of a resentment in the servant that could be twisted to serve the master.

They had served loyally ever since.

More of them were beginning to notice him now, watching them from the dais, and he felt the general anger and resentment in the room simmer ever higher.

Before another duel could begin, Jade opened her mask and snapped at him, "Come to prove why you're above us?"

The hatred spiked again—and further, as he let himself smile.

That was one way to cover up what was going on.

"I don't have anything," he told her, "to prove to _you_."

She stalled. She hadn't expected him to make it that much more difficult for her. But Luke would rarely lower himself to fight the Inquisitors before, and as far as any of them knew, nothing had changed.

As far as _he acknowledged himself_ , nothing had changed.

"Then do it for the good of the Empire," she challenged further. The general chatter in the room had fallen silent, even the red guards turning their heads to observe the exchange. "Teach your _underlings_ exactly what we should strive to be."

They had everyone's full attention now.

Not the way Luke would have gone about being _subtle_ , but he'd go along.

He inclined his head mockingly. "If you insist," he said, then vaulted off the gallery to land on the same level as them, gently, the Force billowing around him.

He, very carefully, unhooked his lightsaber from his belt and held it at his side, loose in his grip. "Would you like to be my partner?"

She grinned at him, and inclined her head just as mockingly. "It'd be my honour," she said, " _my lord_."

Perhaps it made him the most dramatic person in the Core, but he was thoroughly enjoying all these theatrics.

He flicked his wrist twice—firstly to shift the datachip out of a pocket in his sleeve, secondly to light the saber. Then, before she was ready, he lunged.

Panic flashed across her face briefly before she got her blade up in time to block it, gritting her teeth against the effort. Their eyes met over the crossed blades; Luke shifted his grip so their hilts were right next to each other, the emitter on his lightsaber near skimming the metal ring on hers.

It was only a moment of lost concentration that he took to pull on the dark side, and it was worth it. The cold plunged everything into crystal clarity, slower, more precise. He could feel his own heartbeat, see her press her lips together in resolve, feel the emotions of the people around him.

Amusement, from the guards. Glee, anticipation, _bloodlust_ from the Inquisitors.

But most of all, he noticed the minute flicker of understanding that crossed Jade's face when he floated the datachip out of his sleeve and into hers.

The moment it was there he lashed out with his leg, but she dodged the kick and the following slash, ducking back. Her yellow eyes narrowed: this was no longer theatrics, played out to achieve a goal. That goal had already been achieved.

This was a duel, now.

If she lost to Darth Vader's son, she'd bear the brunt of all the other Inquisitors' wrath. They could be violent in their disappointment.

If Luke lost to the Sixth Sister, his father would be disappointed with him.

He cared about one of those things substantially more than the other.

So he _focused_.

All Inquisitors had a similar fighting style, and he always struggled to understand how his father had been the one the teach it to them. Vader relied on _power_. He never wasted time with flashy moves designed to distract or intimidate; he didn't need to. He'd taught that style of fighting to his children.

So Luke held himself still, eyes narrowed, lightsaber out and in a defensive stance. Ready to—

There. Jade spun her lightsaber, painting a swathe of red on the air, and brought it down lightning fast.

But he wasn't there.

He ducked to the side and stabbed his saber forward. She barely caught it on one of her blades and shoved it away. She spun her saber again—

He stepped aside and kicked her torso.

She toppled back, on her feet again with a grunt and a snarl. Her eyes narrowed; her mask hissed close.

_That's not your tell, Jade._

But she was still off-balance: he advanced forward, forced her to parry, parry, parry, always on the defensive.

She tried to spin her saber but he wrapped the Force round her right wrist, held out from her body, and fixed it in place. She jerked, tried to get free in time to avoid the slash he aimed at her torso and _just_ stepped back in time to avoid being skewered.

He let go of her wrist and threw her into the wall.

She collided with a thud, crumpled to the floor. Her mask opened again just long enough for her to shoot him a look loaded with such venom something inside him withered and died.

He turned off his lightsaber.

"Your main tell is that you keep spinning your saber," he told her. It was useful advice, but he supposed hearing it in front of all the other Inquisitors made it humiliating, demeaning. "Just because you _can_ , doesn't mean you should use it exclusively. It leaves you open to attack."

She kept glaring at him.

"Learn something from the Grand Inquisitor: he always used one blade unless two was necessary."

She shoved herself to her feet.

"The Grand Inquisitor," she spat, "was bested by a half-trained _Padawan_ who calls himself _Knight_. I doubt I have anything to learn from _him_."

He shrugged, and turned away. "Then fail."

He took several steps towards the exit, but before he got there the Force screamed a warning. He jerked round, lightsaber igniting just in time to block the strike aimed at his head.

He looked down into Jade's glittering yellow eyes, and something snapped.

He threw out his hand and she was yanked up, her hands scrabbling for her throat, suspended in mid air. She gasped for breath—then cried out when he squeezed tighter.

He let go, and she fell to the floor.

"When you next challenge me to a duel," he said calmly, "make sure it's worthy of my time."

She stared at him, more in shock that anything. He could feel the other Inquisitors staring at him too.

He dropped his fist to his side and clenched it.

That—

He had—

His father would be proud of him, he thought.

So he just turned back around, clipped his lightsaber to his belt, and walked out of there.


	8. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Leia unlocked the doors to the docking port and wasted no time in heading for her ship, where she collapsed onto her bunk in the sleeping quarters and buried her face in her hands.

She didn't know if she should look at what was on those datachips.

Did she trust Tsabin? No.

Did she want to look anyway, because curiosity was eating her alive from the inside out? Absolutely.

She spent several hours putting it off, distracting herself with inane tinkering to her ship.

And when she gave in, she spent several hours combing through the datachips.

There was _so much here_. And— and she _loved_ it.

Senator Amidala's voice—in writing or in the Senate—sounded as cool and clear as the waterfalls of this very planet, her reason impeccable but not lacking emotion. The orator and trained politician inside her marvelled at her skill—and _logic_ —even as she grew more and more afraid.

Because this conflicted with _everything_ she'd ever been taught.

Padmé Amidala was the antithesis to Sheev Palpatine.

Leia opened one of her essays. Tsabin's foreword noted it as a letter written to the leader of a planet that was debating joining the Separatists.

Amidala wrote, _An old friend of mine once said to me that loyalty to the Republic_ — _to democracy_ — _is paramount. I know that our democracy has failed you in the past, as it failed me when I was forced to take personal action after my home planet was invaded so long ago, and I will not pretend it will not fail us both in the future. It is a system of government invented by fallible sentient beings, after all, and nothing we can create is ever perfect._

_At the time, with this in mind, I challenged my friend to answer what we should do if the democracy we serve does not return the favour. His answer was that we must work to restore the democratic process. Because democracy at its best is, in my humble belief, the only true representation of what is best for the people. And if it is failing in its duty then it is_ our _duty to improve it._

_Many have called me an idealist for thinking such things. But why would I have joined politics at as young an age as I did if I was not an idealist?_

_The majority of Separatist senators have just and noble intentions in mind. I believe that. But just as strongly I believe that the solution to fixing a flawed system is to cooperate and compromise with each other and_ improve _it, not to burn it down simply because it was as flawed as all things are._

_I am not in this position to destroy. I am here to create_ — _aren't we all?_

_And I wholeheartedly hope that whatever the Republic creates next, you and your system will be a part of it._

Leia blinked.

She read it again. Then she read Tsabin's afterword.

Apparently the letter was only a draft, and had never been sent—barely five days later, Padmé Amidala had been declared dead and the planet she was writing to had been punished the same way all Separatists and their sympathisers had.

Leia set down the datapad and stared at her fingers, entwined in her lap.

That was hardly the first thing she'd read or watched that had. . . chilled her.

No. Not chilled her.

_Touched_ her.

_I am not in this position to destroy._

This woman who _didn't want to destroy_ was the current leader of the greatest terror threat the Empire had ever seen _._ Yet the words rang genuine to Leia.

So—

_How_ —

Had her stance changed so drastically in the last seventeen—nearly eighteen—years?

It wasn't infeasible.

Leia shook her head—and her hands. Her hands were shaking. She clutched them tighter.

How could she. . . relate. . . so much to something such a terrible woman was saying? How did Amidala sound so _passionate_ but also so _logical_? How could she say things like that in this letter—and many other letters, and speeches, and essays, and bills—then turn around and attack Kuat the way she had, sowing discord throughout the galaxy she'd sworn to serve—

Only, that hadn't been her, had it?

Luke had worked it out. Those Rebels—the Velts—had had nothing to do with Amidala. They'd been working with Saw Gerrera.

Leia knew as well as anyone else in the Emperor's inner circle that nearly all of the attacks the Imperial news decried as violent terrorist activity were actually carried out by Gerrera and his Partisans. She knew they were a splinter faction of the larger Rebellion, not necessarily representative of the main whole.

But whenever she'd wondered about it, Palpatine had assured her that the larger Rebellion _was_ planning something larger, more violent; they were just quieter about it. Their massacres were at bases meant to be secret, so secret that the public—and even she—wasn't allowed to know about them. They had no choice but covering them up, and to prevent people from incorrectly believing the Rebellion harmless, they'd used Gerrera's attacks as 'proof'.

It had seemed reasonable.

Yet it was now occurring to Leia that even now, with her clearance almost on the level of a Grand Moff's, lesser only to her father and the Emperor, she had no idea what the Rebellion had actually done.

Attack military instalments? She knew about that.

Send in spies to steal military secrets? She knew about that.

Assassinate her, Luke, her father? She knew _all about that_.

She'd never stopped to realise that all the targets were technically military.

This wasn't terrorism. This was warfare.

Warfare to reinstall a system Amidala had had such faith in. . .

_It is a system of government invented by fallible sentient beings, after all, and nothing we can create is ever perfect._

Palpatine's tales of a Republic corrupt from the bottom up, of senators who loved money more than righteousness, of a system that nobody believed in. . . they all crumbled before Padmé Amidala's impassioned words.

Amidala had been a pacifist—to an extent. These files were making it clearer and clearer that she'd turned more towards violence after the Invasion of Naboo thirty years ago. Yet she'd still been a staunch opponent of the Clone Wars, and advocated for defence more than attack.

The Rebellion was _built_ on unexpected attacks.

Had the formation of the Empire pushed her to abandon all her ideals?

Leia's eyes caught and snagged on one line: _We must work to restore the democratic process._

No. It hadn't.

She hadn't abandoned her ideals. In fact, fighting against a dictatorship—no matter how much more _effective_ it was than the democracy that preceded it—was actively in line with them.

Leia squirmed. She didn't like where this was going.

She didn't like having her views challenged like this, someone to whom she owed no loyalty, no attention, no _trust_ , swaying her ideas like they were flags in the wind.

She wanted Luke. He'd help her understand all of this.

She reached for his mind, but there was just that same hollow distance as always.

So she kept reading instead.

Her fundamental truths kept crumbling.

Clearly not everyone had supported the then-Chancellor's unusually long service: Amidala had drafted a call to reinstate term limits.

(Amidala, who had refused to amend Naboo's constitution so she could serve longer as queen, and stepped down. . .)

Clearly not everyone had considered the clones as little more than slaves, as her father had always ranted about: Amidala had drafted several bills advocating for their personhood.

(The Empire had phased the clones out of service once they weren't needed to exterminate Jedi, and left them to rot in their guilt over what they'd done. . .)

And clearly not everyone had been indifferent to the slavery in the Outer Rim, something Leia herself had always scorned them for: here, right in front of her, were drafts of bill after antislavery bill after antislavery bill.

(Palpatine had _quadrupled_ the amount of slavery in the galaxy. . .)

It was several hours later that she finished, head swimming from all the information—and _doubts_ —she'd absorbed. She didn't like doubting herself. She didn't like this at all.

She opened one last document and froze.

There, stark against the white screen of the datapad, was a comlink frequency.

The name next to it read, _Sabé_.

Tsabin.

Sabé.

_Padmé_.

Padmé Amidala had had several handmaidens as Queen of Naboo, hadn't she? Not to mention quite a few more as Senator.

And hadn't they all changed their names to reflect hers?

But Leia had already known of Tsabin's involvement with Amidala. That thought was quickly shunted aside when another, more pertinent one came to the forefront:

Wouldn't someone as loyal as a handmaiden support their previous friend and ruler in _anything_?

Even, say, high treason?

Was it beyond the realm of belief to consider that Tsabin— _Sabé_ —was a Rebel?

Leia thought back to the way the woman had held herself, the shielding on her mind, her careful, considered manner.

Oh yes—she was _definitely_ a Rebel.

But did that mean. . .

Had— had _Tsabin_ been trying to _recruit_ her?

That was ridiculous. The _thought_ that it would _ever_ succeed was _ridiculous_ —

Right?

Leia switched off the datapad and stuffed it into her bag, pointedly not looking at the comlink frequency. No. She wasn't going to comm her. Even if she could get more information—maybe even Amidala's location—out of her.

She needed to _think_ first.

She reached for her comlink anyway, and typed out a message.

More than anything, she needed to talk to Luke.

* * *

Luke's comlink gave a soft _ping_ while he sat at his desk poring over yet another stack of paperwork Horada had dumped on him. There'd been a distinctly evil look in her eye as she did so, and now he had no shame in diving for the message immediately.

Anything for a distraction.

And this Leia sent him was certainly distracting enough. She wanted _more_ information about Padmé Amidala? Not to mention some of the recordings and holos she was sending, one at a time. Speeches and essays and letters, snippets of video from her time as queen and in the senate. He frowned.

_Add them to the file_ , her message read. _Can you check through, see if there's something I missed?_

"Anything for my darling sister," he said under his breath, but sighed. Then he reached out a hand to shove the other datapads he was supposed to organise away.

As he did, he _actually_ _looked_ at the headings on a few of them. It was just standard paperwork, but it was his father's name that caught his eye.

_Twelve officers executed for poor conduct and incompetence in the last cycle, sentence carried out by Lord Darth Vader._

His hand unintentionally stilled.

He knew what the pretty words were covering up. His father's standards were brutally harsh, and he was equally brutal in exacting them. It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did—it wasn't like he hadn't known of it, hadn't _seen it happen_ , before. And it _wouldn't_ have bothered him, if it weren't for. . . _that_ word.

_Executed._

And he thought. . .

_I refuse to kneel before a tyrant and his executioner._

He didn't know what he thought. He'd always known about Vader's behaviour—he'd endorsed it. If his father thought it was right, then it must be.

Why was he having doubts now? It wasn't just because of Teela Velt's impassioned words, he knew that much. He'd had hundreds of speeches spat at him by hundreds of Rebels; they had never burrowed quite so deep.

What in the galaxy had happened which caused him to doubt his father so much—and, by extension, himself?

He didn't know.

No. He did know. But he didn't like thinking about it.

But researching Padmé Amidala was hardly going to help, because that was _intrinsically tied up in it_ —

He transferred one of the videos Leia had sent him to the computer screen and watched it play out. Amidala stood in Naboo's senate pod, as she had in so many holos of her that they'd dug up. She was giving a speech—something about the Clone Wars, but it wasn't clear from the recording what. Once she was finished she didn't take her seat again; rather, she turned around to head out of it, where a man seemed to be waiting for her.

Luke paused the video.

Something about that man. . . the way he stood. . .

He zoomed in on the image. The figure was tall—much taller than the senator, even with her hairpiece—and wore dark robes, cut in the style of a Jedi Knight. Sure enough, there was a shape that might have passed for a lightsaber in the grainy quality.

Luke squinted and scrutinised the man's face.

It too was blotchy and blocky, with the blue light of the holo disguising his colouring. But the way he stood, angled to block the senator from prying eyes, the way she tilted her head back and half-smiled, half-smirked at him. . .

Something was important.

So Luke scrutinised him further.

Nose. Mouth. Eyes. Eyebrows. . . and there, bisecting the right eyebrow, was a deep scar.

Luke had rarely seen his father without the mask, but he _had_ seen him.

It was odd to see his younger, unburned self here.

He played the holo again, and watched the man's mannerisms just as carefully as he had before. They matched his father's, for sure.

And looking at how the two interacted. . . the features clearly visible in both Luke and Leia. . .

If he hadn't been before, he was even more convinced that Padmé Amidala had been his mother.

And that man was his father.

Who had he been? Who was he?

Who was _Luke_?

He spent the next standard hour searching for any Jedi who matched the profile of the man in that holo, but to no avail. And when he finally walked out of the Archives, his head spinning, he almost didn't notice the woman who walked across the corridor opposite him.

"Ja— Sixth Sister," he corrected, berating himself for the slip. He hadn't told her what he'd found yet and he didn't want to prompt too many questions.

She ignored him, and kept walking.

"Wait!" He jogged after her, and stopped when she did. He wanted to cringe at the withering glare she shot him, before he pulled himself together. What he was about to say made him seem soft enough as it was. "I just— I just wanted to say, I'm sorry for yesterday."

Then was a beat of silence, her shock clear, then—

"Don't be," she snapped back. "I led you into it. And you gave me the information, so we're even."

Funnily enough, that did not sound like forgiveness. "I embarrassed you when I didn't need to," he pushed. "And I'm sorry." His skin crawled every time he thought about it—he'd felt like—

"I _said_ , don't." She glowered at him, and Luke noticed a red rim in her yellow eyes that he hadn't seen before. "It was embarrassment. I was punished for losing, and had to fight through pain and anger until I found the dark side again and won. That's my training." She kept walking. The windows in the corridor showed the beginning of sunset on the horizon, Coruscant's many satellites hanging like beacons in the sky.

It reflected odd light across the contours of her helmet as she slid it closed and said, "The only difference here was that it was you doing it, not Vader."

He'd always known his father did that. It was one of the many things he'd never thought about until now.

The same feeling from earlier manifested in his gut. _Executioner._

"So don't worry, Luke. You're doing everything right. He's definitely proud of you."

She stalked off, the Force agitating in her wake, leaving him standing there with her parting words.

They weren't as much comfort as he wanted them to be.

* * *

Luke hadn't replied with his analysis of the situation by the time Leia woke up, so she decided to clear her head by wandering around Theed some more. Who knew: she might find something of value.

The teal top and blue trousers she donned were just as fashionable and inconspicuous-only-on-Naboo as her top from the previous day, but she found she preferred this outfit much more. The sleeves and shoulders had indigo embroidery on them in the shapes of flowers and birds; for once, when she sensed people noticing her, it was because they liked her clothes and not because they thought she was a threat.

Until she passed by an artist's studio, and froze.

There was tension in the Force. It wasn't directed at her—well, not directly. The Force was being vague, which was an intrinsic part of communing with the Force, but she still felt a flash of resentment at the thought of how clear Palpatine's foresight could be. She grabbed that resentment, held onto it and let it fuel her, until the world sharpened and she could hear that tension like a scream in her ears.

Turmoil, just a few streets over. _Violent_ turmoil, on par with what she'd sensed when she and Luke had first descended into that mess on Kuat, unlike anything she'd ever expected to find on Naboo. In _Theed_.

The Naboo were pacifists.

The sounds of the turmoil were just starting to reach this street now. The artist looked up in her studio, alarmed; several patrons of the café a few doors down looked startled; someone on the upper floor of a residential building stuck their head out the window. The noise was like a chanting, shouting— _angry_ , aggressive shouting.

Leia didn't know how far away it was. The sense of it spun in the Force, the anger scorching when she tried to reach for it; she flinched back. Then she lifted her head and set her chin.

Several people in the street gasped as she drew her lightsaber from her bag and lit it—then screamed as she jumped, further than any human should be able to. She perched on a windowsill on the second floor, then leaped again, across the street, to catch the edge of the roof and haul herself onto it.

The Naboo's penchant for domed buildings was working against her; her hands scrabbled for purchase. She barely found it, but she found it nonetheless. Then she scrambled to the top, and looked around.

She was high enough to see this entire quadrant of Theed, the streets unfolding under her feet like she stood on a map. And she could see where the commotion was coming from—several places, in fact.

Riots.

_Riots_ had broken out. In _Theed_. On _Naboo_.

Smoke rose from each pocket of chaos, and it was by that which she tracked their moment, towards the centre of the city, where they converged on—

On the Palace.

She slid off the roof, softened her landing with the Force, and sprinted.

She needed to get there quickly.

Someone shouted after her but she made it to the Palace ahead of the riots, out of breath, tracking their movements through the Force. There was something intentional about the paths they were taking, something calculated, and she didn't like it one bit.

The moment she entered the courtyard a guard trained his blaster on her.

She ripped it out of his hand and sent it scattering across the floor.

The rest of the guards milling about fixed their blasters on her.

"I am an agent of His Majesty the Emperor," she got out through ground teeth, lifting her hands. She didn't have time for this. "There are riots moving this way, and I have come to assist you in crushing them."

"We've got this under control," one of them said. Leia recognised him as the leader based on the others' body language in response to when he spoke. "And ma'am, if they're headed this way, you should probably leave the area—"

Leia scoffed, then turned her back on them.

Fine.

If they weren't going to listen to her, she'd deal with this herself.

She strode out of the courtyard, mind-whirring. She had her tiny blaster, she had her lightsaber, and she had the Force. Would that be enough?

No. Not with only one person.

But if she could delay the riot long enough for the guards to get the Queen of Naboo to safety and barricade the Palace. . . that would be enough.

She scaled the walls of the courtyard, one of the climbing plants proving to be a very useful handhold, and dragged herself once again onto a position overlooking several streets. The small riots had all converged into one by now and were marching down Palace Plaza to— What? Storm the building?

Leia crept closer to a tree, flattened herself to her belly, and hoped no one noticed her.

She watched the leaders of each faction just melt into the crowd as it converged. It was a good mix of people who were marching: there were the well-dressed Naboo and Gungans, perhaps resentful enough of the Empire and drunk on their own righteousness that they thought this might lead to anything but their death; thin, skeletal beings who dragged themselves along only by the fire of their anger, whose uniforms identified them as spice miners from Onoam and Veruna; and lastly there were the others, an eclectic mix of more species than Leia could count, who held themselves like they knew what they were doing and seemed to be the ones in charge. Leia squinted, hoping to get a closer look.

There was a flag-bearer at the front. She narrowed her eyes, then pursed her lips together and _focused_ , tugging on that little piece of cloth until it unfurled. . .

She didn't recognise the symbol at first. It was a red arrow, more or less, on a white background, pointing to the bottom left.

The it hit her.

The symbol of Saw Gerrera's Partisans.

Had _he_ organised this? Why? What was there to gain from seizing Naboo?

It was a rhetorical question. She knew the answer: _Prestige_.

Fear.

Recognition.

If they could strike at the heart of the Mid Rim world that had birthed the Emperor in the first place, they suddenly became a real threat. More people would fear them, cave to their demands; more people would flock to them, seeing them as more effective than the main Rebellion. What would they do? Burn the Palace? If they could kidnap the Queen. . .

They couldn't kidnap the Queen.

Leia wouldn't let them.

And a riot wouldn't manage to pull that off. More probable this was a distraction for the main show going on indoors. She briefly considered heading in to protect Her Majesty herself, but judging by the courtyard guards' reactions, her presence would not be welcome.

So she'd better deal with this as quickly as possible, so the guards could go back to protecting the Queen as quickly as possible.

She fixed her eyes on the flag bearer. He was a Tognath, wearing the mask needed for him to survive in an oxygen-rich atmosphere.

With a flick of her fingers, she yanked him into the air by the throat and threw him into the crowd.

The flag fell, trampled by a dozen appendages.

The Tognath still clutched his throat, gagging and flailing and _screeching_ with enough urgency to distract the people around him—including the leader. She, a stocky, blue-skinned Twi'lek, paused to frown down at him.

The rest of the procession halted when she did.

Leia took one moment to be mildly impressed by the fact they were so under the Twi'lek's thrall, then opened fire.

The first shot struck the Twi'lek right between her lekku; she went down in a spray of blood.

Someone screamed, and there was chaos.

Some of the rioters—particularly the Naboo—turned and fled amid the screams.

Leia drew in their sudden fear, apprehension, then held out her hand. The Force rolled towards them like a tsunami. The wet crackle of bones sounded above the shouting, and lives winked out in the Force.

She fired again. The next most senior-looking leader got a bolt to the back of his head.

One rioter—a miner, by the looks of him—jerked his head up in her direction, and caught sight of her. He shouted to his companions; she gave him a bolt between his eyes for the trouble. But it was too late.

A bolt hit the wall beneath her; she flinched instinctively. Yanked herself to her feet, leapt off the wall, and fired several more shots into the crowd.

They hit their targets with a painful accuracy.

But so did someone else's: pain burst in her lower leg.

She grunted, glancing down quickly enough to see blood soak her trousers. She scowled.

She'd liked this outfit.

No time to dwell on that now. She'd helped the best she could, she'd wiped out half the rioters and reduced the threat to the Queen's life. If the guards were too incompetent to handle it from here, then they almost deserved what happened, in Leia's book.

Now, to reduce the threat to _her_ life, she needed to scram.

It was hard running with a blaster wound in her leg. After the first street, glancing back to see a few furious Partisans—probably angry at the loss of their leader—hounding after her, she risked taking a minute to rip some of the cloth off her t-shirt to staunch the bleeding. She gritted her teeth against the pain.

Then the Partisans were on top of her.

The first one fired a shot, and they didn't live long enough to fire another one. Her lightsaber was in her hand and lit before the blaster had even finished recoiling; the bolt flew right back to shoot the Aqualish through the face.

" _Inquisitor_ ," a human Partisan hissed, eyeing her red blade.

"Don't insult me," she spat, and shot him.

The rest shot her all at once and there was nothing she could do except dive out of the way, hope she didn't die, and run for it again.

Once she was out of point-blank range, she could guide the bolts away from their target, missing her and hitting the street instead, but they _just kept coming_.

So she just kept running.

The wound was hurting more and more—she wasn't doing it any favours, she suspected, putting this much stress on her leg, but there wasn't much she could do. She was nearing the docking bays now, but even once she got aboard and blasted these idiots to smithereens with her borderline illegal cannons, she wasn't sure she had decent medical supplies on board. Well, decent _enough_.

She ducked her head as another bolt barely missed her.

_Worry about that later_.

A bolt came for her body—her lightsaber snapped back, deflecting two into the ground in quick succession. The docking bays were in sight now, looming straight ahead; she near-slammed into the door, jabbed the key code to opened it, and dashed inside.

The doors slid shut on her pursuers with a hiss.

She let out a hiss herself. She closed her eyes, scrunched them tightly, and took a deep breath.

She'd had worse injuries, but _kreth_ this one hurt.

She limped up the boarding ramp and collapsed onto her bunk in the bedroom with a sigh. Digging the medical kit out from under her bed and applying bacta to the wound helped ease her mind somewhat, but her thoughts still whirled by faster than she could understand them.

She couldn't stay on Naboo.

If any of the rioters survived or escaped, they'd be on the hunt for her. She couldn't very well start digging for information about Amidala when both the authorities and the populace knew she was an Imperial agent—if that angle had worked, she would've started with that. The entire point of Palpatine sending _her_ was subtlety, which just made the fact that Tsabin seemed to see right through her even more concerning. . .

She needed to investigate other areas where Senator Amidala had been linked.

Coruscant was her next best bet, but she _lived_ on Coruscant, _literally in the woman's apartment_. If there'd been anything to find there, she would have found it already.

If there was anything _more_ to find there, Luke would find it.

Maybe, she mused, hopping across the room to the desk her datapad lay on, there was something to be found in Amidala's writings?

Amidala had been connected to a great many planets. She'd created the Mid Rim Cooperation for Bromlarch after its aqueduct was damaged, and that led to a strong alliance between other Mid Rim worlds and many in the Core as well. She'd had a brief romantic relationship with Senator Rush Clovis of Scipio, but he was dead and Leia doubted the rest of the Muuns had anything to say on the matter.

Alderaan and Chandrila had also been close allies of hers— _and_ their senators were still alive for her to question.

But the point was that they were close _allies_. If she started stirring up dust in her investigation, it might alert Amidala that she suspected she hadn't died with the Republic.

Leia's leg twinged; she thought back to what had just happened.

Forget about not stirring up dust.

So. Alderaan and Chandrila were both perfectly viable options, and when she got there she'd grill every tiny detail out of their senators. But both were in the Core, and would require a good few days' worth of hyperspace travel to get to. If there was a closer source, one she could research briefly just to get as broad an idea as possible. . .

Tatooine.

The name scrolled across her datapad almost casually, Amidala's mention of it in this letter a throwaway line. _When I was on Tatooine, I saw injustice unlike anything we have on Naboo. . ._

It was a long shot. She probably wouldn't find anything. But Tatooine was only a day's travel away, and she couldn't deny something felt. . . _right_ about this. She'd been assured by her father, the Emperor, every person who'd ever been there, that Tatooine was a deplorable place full of deplorable people, as far from the bright centre of the galaxy that one could get.

But she wanted to go.

She decided it was the Force, but a part of her knew it _wasn't_. A part of her knew it was more memory, long-buried and long-forgotten, pushing its way back to the surface.

A thought flashed to mind: a seven-year-old and her twin brother, climbing into their father's lap, confused and afraid. _I keep dreaming of a desert. . ._

Yes, she decided, pushing herself to her feet and heading for the cockpit. She'd go to Tatooine, whether she could learn anything about Amidala from it or not.

And maybe then she'd work out what her mind was trying to tell her.


	9. Mirage

Luke staggered into the apartment paranoid and twitchy.

He could sense that his father was in the house, and he did _not_ want to have to explain what he'd found. Nor was he sure he'd be able to look at Vader without seeing the man he used to be superimposed over the top of him, that face Luke resembled so much, the arrogance in his stance.

His father tried to start a conversation with him anyway.

Luke was tense, his nerves fraying from the revelation and his interaction with Jade. He should have known better than to hide that from his father.

The moment Luke walked into the living room, Vader loomed at the doorway and asked, "Are you all right?"

There was a dark worry in Vader's voice, and Luke felt the dark side constrict around him like a hug, one of the closest things his father gave to physical affection.

Luke tried to grin, grimaced instead, then aborted the gesture. "Yeah. I'm just. . ." — _lonely confused missing Leia afraid nervous paranoid angry self-loathing_ — ". . .tired."

It wasn't a lie, but Vader picked up on the deception anyway. He tilted his head—Luke imagined that cocky young man from the holo narrowed his eyes at him, and was concerned at how vivid the image was—and pressed, "Is your work in the Archives bothering you? Do you miss your sister?"

"Of course I miss Leia. It's like there's a hole in my chest." He didn't mean to snap at his father—indeed, he blanched in horror after he realised what he'd done, he'd _snapped_ at his _father_ —but he _was_ tired. His eyes hurt.

Vader was silent for a moment. "After a while," he said, "You get used to the emptiness."

Luke stepped forward, reaching for his hand. "Father. . .?"

Vader let him take his hand; Luke squeezed it tightly. He sent a wave of adoration over their bond and felt Vader relax. He dropped Luke's hand to brush hair out of his face; his fingers lingered on his cheek.

"I don't _want_ you to have to get used to it," he amended, "but, if needs be. . . you do."

Luke smiled faintly. He could feel exhaustion creeping in at the edge of his senses.

"Once we overthrow Palpatine, you won't have to work in the Archives anymore," his father said lightly, picking up on his thoughts.

"Even if I annoy you?"

"You could never annoy me." The words were soft, then Vader tempered them with a wry, "Though I suppose it might teach you patience for once."

"If you think it's best that I work there," Luke murmured, "I'd be happy to do it." His father wasn't all-powerful, but he was the greatest man Luke knew—and he trusted him with everything he had.

Vader's touch softened, and he made to rest his hand on Luke shoulder. "I know you would." He smiled at him.

Luke couldn't see the smile behind the mask, but he knew it was there. He could feel it in the rush of affection across their bond, see it in the way his helmet tilted forwards, hear it in the gentle words. No holo image could show him that.

_This_ was his father, not the young, brash man who'd once worn his face. This was the man Luke idolised, and this was the man who was important to him.

He didn't need anything else.

* * *

Tatooine was just as disgusting as her father had always described.

Her brief correspondence with the Imperials in Bestine had been enough for her to completely lose faith in any Imperial presence on the planet—well, any _competent_ Imperial presence. She left the communications officer squawking as she suddenly abandoned the capital city and took off for another part of the planet.

The only reason she'd headed to Bestine in the first place was to make sure she'd have Imperial backup if she needed it, but at this point she didn't even want that. They'd probably just get in the way.

According to the datachips, Padmé Amidala had landed outside Mos Espa on her brief—and, as far as was recorded, _only_ —visit to Tatooine, and interacted with the residents there. So Leia headed in that direction first, though she knew she was kidding herself.

She didn't expect to find anything on Tatooine. The woman had been here once, thirty years ago; any trace of here would have been buried by the sands and the passage of time long ago. She was here because she wanted to be.

She was here because something called to her.

So she poked around Mos Espa for a while. Seeing the slaves, human and Twi'lek and so many other species, boiled her blood, but she held herself in check despite the anguish she could feel in this place.

Clamping down on her shields, she allowed the fleeting thought that just _standing_ here would have been torture to Luke: he couldn't shield nearly as well as she could, and he'd always been overly sensitive to emotions. It was useful sometimes, as it had been with the Velts, but it was a double-edged blade that cut _him_ just as deeply.

Force, she missed him. If he was here she'd probably be talking him out of starting an impromptu slave revolt or something, and it would be almost cathartic knowing she wasn't the only one who felt this way.

But he wasn't here.

She was alone.

So she squared her shoulders, ignored the residual pain in her leg, and just forced herself to keep moving.

As expected, she found nothing of relevance. But something about the place dazzled her anyway—the sands, the way the sun gleamed off the rundown buildings, the brush of the homespun clothes she'd donned to blend in with the locals. It felt like something out of a dream, and maybe that comparison came from the fact that it _was_.

Tatooine was the desert she and Luke had been dreaming about their whole lives.

It made her linger, constantly watching and searching for some meaning behind it. Something deeper, beyond the misery that permeated every inch. Why had this suns-stunned world haunted them for so long?

One Rodian vendor scoffed at something a customer told them, weighing up the shrivelled. . . thing. . . they seemed to be selling for meat as they said, "You think you could've competed in a podrace? You're human."

"A human won them before," the man insisted, dark brows creasing. "I just got accepted into the Imperial Academy, Skystrike—"

"I don't care," the Rodian shot back. Leia suspected that what she meant was, _I don't know what that means._ No one knew anything about the Empire, all the way out here. "Skywalker was the only human who ever won one of those things, and he was magic. I don't care how good you are."

Leia sensed the human man wanting to argue, but he just scowled and stalked off, wrinkled meaty thing dangling from his hand.

The Rodian turned her large eyes on Leia, but by that time her back was turned and she was walking away herself.

_Skywalker_. The name rang a bell in her mind, but she couldn't have said why. She wracked her memory for it, just as she wracked her memory for the images of the desert she'd always received, but the answers were just as much mirages as they always were. They shimmered tantalisingly at a distance, then vanished as she got closer to the truth.

She gritted her teeth and pulled her long scarf across her face. She'd try the next city.

Mos Eisley was even more disgusting than Mos Espa, if that was possible, but only because it seemed more focused on kissing Jabba's backside than actually getting anything done. It was a free spaceport, supposedly, but anytime someone passed through they were reported to the slug.

One of his cronies tried to get her to pay a ridiculous amount of money to dock in the port. She'd shot him through the head for his troubles.

She'd changed her outfits so she couldn't be linked to the young woman visiting Mos Espa for mysterious reasons, replaced the bacta patch she'd stuck on her calf, and wandered around the city for a while. This place was less familiar—though, again, she couldn't have said why. She managed to procure a map of the surrounding area from a vendor who stared at her a little too intently. She felt his eyes along her back as she walked off; her skin crawled.

She studied the map carefully, taking note of which names and landscapes sparked that mirage, and which didn't. She'd completely abandoned the pretence of searching for Amidala by now; she wanted to find out what was going on in her _own_ head, first.

_Bestine_. The name was as dull in her mind as the ink it was written in on the map.

_Jundland Wastes._ Familiar, vaguely, but the way a long-forgotten word might be, or a word that sounded similar to one. For all she knew, it could be anything.

The mirage was strongest around the tiny town marked _Anchorhead_. She was starting to think this illusion was like her mind trying desperately to hide something from her: the closer she got, the stronger the misdirection and the shimmer.

She was extremely focused on the map, but that didn't mean she didn't notice when a man came up to her. She assessed him thoroughly as she approached, reading the gist of his thoughts if not the thoughts themselves. He meant her no harm.

She didn't look up from the map until his shadow fell across her, an almost welcome relief from the twin suns. When she did, her lips tightened slightly.

It was the young man from earlier, with the dark hair and neat moustache—the one who claimed he'd been accepted into Skystrike. She hadn't sensed a lie when he said so.

Impressive. That was one talented pilot, then.

"Can I help you?" she asked. Her tone wasn't _sharp_ , but it was curt—she didn't have time to entertain him unless he promised to be useful.

"Oh, no," he answered, floundering slightly but still strangely solid. "I was wondering if I could help you? You seem lost."

Leia narrowed her eyes at him minutely. The words rang true.

"I am," she pretended to admit, one of her hands fluttering to hug her stomach. Maybe he _could_ be useful, if he was so intent on being so. "My mother passed away recently, and she told me I had relatives on this planet. At least—I had." She let herself babble; it fed into her persona. "Whether or not I still have them is what I came to find out, I guess."

"I understand. Do you know what their names were?"

There was really only one thing Leia could say. There was only one name that had sparked that mirage. "Skywalker."

The man's reaction was instant and telling: his eyebrows shot up, his mouth parted slightly. If he expected to go into Imperial service, he'd need to learn to hide his emotions a lot better than that. He'd be eaten alive by all the backstabbing required to reach the top.

"Skywalker," he said. "They were definitely a family here—Anakin Skywalker was a slave, I believe. He was freed because he was the first human ever to win the Boonta Eve Classic podrace, then became a navigator on a spice freighter."

A spice dealer? What would be so important about _him_?

"He's long dead, but I knew his children. Twins. They—" His face fell. "They disappeared around ten years ago, and their homestead was burned."

"Oh." She let herself look crestfallen, crushed.

Sure enough, it evoked pity in him. "I'm sorry." He scratched the back of his neck. "I. . . could take you to what's left of the homestead, if you like? I'm Biggs by the way," he said suddenly, holding out his hand. "Biggs Darklighter."

She took his hand and shook it. "Liana Cedel," she lied. It wasn't the first time she'd used that alias, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"The homestead's out by Anchorhead, it's about an hour by speeder," he said, meeting her eyes calmly. She decided she liked him—he seemed honest enough, and it was refreshing.

But—

_Anchorhead._

The plot thickened.

She shrugged. "I've got time."

They left almost immediately, though Leia had to squeeze into Biggs's speeder next to all the other mechanical parts and strange meaty _things_ he'd bought. He laughed when she made a face at the smell.

"You're clearly not from around here."

Not. She most certainly was _not_.

That didn't stop everything from feeling familiar.

The feeling hit her strongest when they arrived at the homestead, now barely recognisable as something that was once lived in. Half of even the sand-blasted stone had been scoured away, leaving the place cracked open like a convor egg shell, the insides bleached and windswept until nothing remained. Leia was surprised this much was even left standing.

The sight of it sent a painful pang through her chest, though she couldn't have said why.

"This is all that's left of your relatives." Biggs's face was carefully blank, in a way that confused Leia enough she probed his mind for answers. He was feeling his own distant grief at the loss—he'd been friends with the Skywalkers, and he'd apparently used to visit this place as often as he did his own home—but he didn't want to intrude on hers. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." There was a lump in her throat— _why_? She wasn't attached to this. She had _nothing to do with this_ , dreams of no dreams.

Waking up in the middle of the night, screaming, Luke screaming in synchrony with her, her father trying desperately to calm them both down—

_Was it the desert again?_

"What—" She swallowed. "What was. . . Anakin, did you say his name was? What was he like?"

Perhaps more information could teach her more—

"I don't actually know," Biggs admitted. "He left Tatooine after he was freed and never came back, but he died just under twenty years ago. The twins were sent to live with their aunt and uncle by marriage. Owen and Beru Lars. Well. Beru Whitesun Lars."

The mirage flickered around those names as well.

"What were the twins called?" she asked. "What were _they_ like?"

"Reckless, if I remember correctly. Very cheerful. One was a boy, one was a girl. You look a lot like the girl, actually," he added. "I can see the family resemblance." He smiled a little.

She smiled back, if only to keep her cover. Her mind was whirring, and she was probably a little harsh when she pressed, "Yes, but what were the twins called?"

He seemed taken aback, but answered automatically, "Luke and Leia Skywalker."

Leia's world screeched to a halt.

* * *

Luke had been searching for his father's identity for hours now.

He'd decided that who his father had been before wasn't important, and he stuck by that principle. But he wanted to know who _he_ was.

What would his last name have been—if not Naberrie—had his father seen fit to give him one? He was curious, he wanted to know, and it was tearing him apart.

He had no official standing in the Empire. He was Lord Vader's son—but what did that _mean_? Who was he? Who _would_ he be?

He was indefatigable in his research.

He'd worked out that his father had likely been a Jedi before he realised how corrupt they were, so the first thing Luke did was search through file after file on every Jedi he could find.

His search remained fruitless. The files on the Jedi were restricted, but that wasn't a problem: he had the codes and clearance to get through it all. If his father or the Emperor asked about what he was doing looking through there, he could say that he was researching his enemy, just as they'd instructed—even if the idea of lying to his father made his stomach turn.

The _problem_ , however, was actually finding the man.

He was a ghost. Occasionally he'd be in the back of holos, never at the forefront, and Luke began to suspect that when he'd become Darth Vader, his father had ordered all previous recollections of him destroyed.

Except Luke and Leia.

So it was nearly _impossible_ to find anything concrete. One couldn't expect the records of even the meticulously bureaucratic Republic to be perfect, and with the chaos of the Clone Wars and the Purges, not much had been recorded. Luke was left to look for pinpricks in between tears and gashes.

But there was one place that _did_ have effective documentation, that _did_ have the pinpricks he was looking for.

The records of who had been elevated to Jedi Master, and who had taken a seat on the Council.

It was a major ceremony to become a Jedi Knight, an hour; it was an even greater honour to be made a Master. Their names were all dutifully recorded, and if they had the unfathomable luck to sit on the Council as well, that was taken down as well.

The turnover was fast during the Clone Wars. So many died, so many proved themselves. When one Council member perished, they were quickly replaced, then again, and again, round and round. Each instance written down for posterity by the Jedi Order's scholar.

Adi Gallia: died on Felucia, her seat filled by her cousin, Stass Allie.

Shaak Ti: took the seat of a Master of unknown species by the name of Yaddle, after Yaddle passed away of a truly ancient age. She'd apparently been of the same species as Grandmaster Yoda, but Luke didn't have a clue what that species might be.

And then there was the man who'd replaced Master Even Piell on the Council.

That man was human, the youngest Council member ever in his early twenties, and he had not been granted the rank of Master.

His name was Anakin Skywalker.

It was the only instance of seeing the name that he'd come across in all of his research, and that in itself, just how thoroughly it had been buried, was telling enough. He'd have known even without the burst of familiarity and _rightness_ the Force granted him.

But the most compelling factor: he had been appointed to the Council as Chancellor Palpatine's personal representative.

His father had been Palpatine's right-hand man from the start.

_And now he's plotting treason against him._

Luke did his best to shake the thought away. He had the name.

Anakin Skywalker.

Which made Luke and Leia Skywalkers as well, right?

Luke Skywalker.

It sounded. . . familiar. It sounded _right_.

He grinned, and had to hide the expression from Horada's questioning glance. He was Luke Skywalker.

He was _Luke Skywalker_ —

His comlink buzzed sharply.

He ignored it.

It buzzed again, insistent. Seeing the glares he was receiving, he hastily stepped into the empty corridor outside before he switched it on. His eyes blew wide.

It was his sister.

"Leia!" he said excitedly. "Great—I have something to tell you."

* * *

"If it's about Amidala, not now." Leia may have snapped a little more than usual—more than _necessary_ —but she was tense. Vibrating out of her skin. She'd managed to clamp down on her shock when Biggs had first said the words, the whole of the speeder ride back, when she'd said farewell to him and dashed into her ship, but _no more_. "I have something important to tell you—"

_"So do I—"_

"—I found out who we are."

_"—I found out who Father was."_

* * *

Leia blinked. _"Anakin Skywalker?"_

"Yes." Luke creased his brow—how had she known that? How _long_ had she—

_"I just found out, don't look so betrayed."_ Again, the words were snappish, but he knew his sister. She was excited. She was agitated. She wasn't angry. _"Just as I found out that we used to be called—"_

* * *

_"Luke and Leia Skywalker?"_

Leia wrinkled her nose. "Are those your magnificent powers of deduction?"

_"You bet."_ The small hologram of him, projected over the console, grinned broadly.

"Very impressive," she drawled. "But remember when Father said that he _found_ us?"

Luke sat forward; she had his full attention now.

"I know where he found us from."

* * *

"Where?" Luke was struggling not to let his mouth hang open like a fish. "Where are you now?"

_"Tatooine."_ Leia grimaced. _"Apparently we were raised by some extended family until little Luke and Leia Skywalker 'disappeared' at age seven."_

"A desert planet?" Age seven was when the dreams of the endless expanses of sand had started—this might begin to explain _why_.

_And_ explain why their father had been so panicked, so _angry_ , whenever they got them. . .

_"It's not like we have any specific or clear memories from before age seven. What's your earliest memory?"_

He thought for a moment. "You nearly shoving me down the stairs on Mustafar."

_"Me too. Isn't that odd, developing memories that late?"_

Luke shrugged. "I don't know. It's not like we've spoken to a great many normal human children."

_"No,"_ he saw Leia hide her smile, _"we haven't. But I don't think it's normal. I think_ — _"_

"That we've had a mind block put in our heads?" He frowned at the idea.

_"It's possible."_ She sighed. _"We'd better ask Father when I get back."_

He snorted. "That'll go well."

_"We'll ask_ nicely _."_

" _You_ know how to be _nice_?"

_"Is this really the time to be mocking me?"_

"It's always time to mock my sister."

Leia made a face. _"Point taken."_ She frowned, then said, _"I_ — _"_

A beeping.

She frowned further. _"I'm getting an incoming message from. . . Palpatine."_ Her eyes widened. _"I'll call you back later, Luke."_

"Looking forward to it."

The comlink winked off.

Luke stared at it for a few moments, then sighed. Tucked it into his pocket. Headed back to the Archives.

He had work to do.

But Leia's revelations distracted him. They buzzed at the back of his mind. The more he learned, it seemed, the more questions he had.

Who were these relatives they'd lived with for seven years?

Why had they been given to them, and not their father?

And, perhaps the most haunting one: _Why hadn't his father told him?_

He was so deep in thought as he sat at his desk that at first it took him a moment to tell something was wrong.

The place was too quiet. Half the people who'd been here before had left, including Horada. But a few still remained, including one person browsing the architectural section of the shelves, who seemed. . . off.

Luke probed him with the Force. Yes, something was definitely off. The person—a human male, perhaps in his late twenties or thirties with nervous, twitching hands— _radiated_ a calmness that was at odds with his general demeanour.

One of the datapads on Luke's desk had been taken from near to the architectural section. He picked it up and sauntered over, forcing his gait to stay smooth, his steps loud but not too loud. The man stiffened minutely with each approaching step, glancing at Luke as he slotted the datapad into its place on the shelf, then hastily glancing away when Luke looked at him.

"I'm sorry, sir," Luke said lightly, "but weapons aren't allowed in the Imperial Archives." He nodded to the scuffed blaster at the man's hip—perhaps the most obtrusive sign that whoever he was, he wasn't one of the ordinary patrons. They'd rather be defenceless than face Horada's wrath. Luke couldn't really blame them.

He held out his hand. "If you give it to me, I can put it in the draw with the other weapons, for you to pick up on your way out?" The man was still tense, so Luke softened the exchange with a quip: "I'm told that the last time a weapon was allowed in here, there was utter chaos. That was years ago, so it's probably overkill, but better safe than sorry, eh?"

It seemed to convince the man. He tucked he datapad he'd been holding under his arm, and unhooked the blaster from his waist. He held it in his hands briefly before passing it over.

Luke's hand closed around the grip firmly, lest he change his mind and decide to take it back.

The man noticed that, clearly: his eyes narrowed, and his Force sense thrummed like a wire about to break.

Luke was convinced he was a Rebel.

But. . . why here? What was he after?

They could find that out, he decided, during the interrogation.

He flicked the blaster to stun and pointed it. His hand was steady. "Don't move."

The man's datapad clattered to the floor as he lunged.

Luke pulled the trigger, but there was no discharge, no blue ring sparking through his body and shutting down his systems like a power surge. A fist collided with his face and he hit the floor hard.

Lights flashed before his eyes. Footsteps, loud and fast but fading, indignant shouts.

A red flashing light in front of him. He shoved himself onto his hands and knees, scowling at the blaster on the floor next to him, at the crimson display that read _NO POWER_.

The Rebel had removed the power cell before he handed it over.

_Son of a—_

At least he'd left the datapad behind in his rush to escape. Luke took the time to dump it on his desk—he could inspect it later—then seized on the man's terrified mind in the Force, and gave chase.

* * *

Leia didn't know what to think as her comlink spewed out the image of Palpatine, wrinkled face in exquisite detail, and she sank to one knee. She was nowhere near completing her mission—she'd been away for three weeks at most. What was there for him to say to her?

Leia gritted her teeth, but knelt in front of the hologram. Keeping her eyes to the ground, subservient, she waited for him to speak.

She didn't have to wait long.

"Were you in the middle of something, child? Have I interrupted you?"

There was something mocking in the words, something which dug at Leia, but she crushed her resentment. "It's fine, Master. I was merely talking with Luke."

"Ah, yes. Understandable." His tone implied it was no such thing. "Have you been missing your brother?"

She swallowed. "Yes, Master." Then, because she'd never voluntarily hid anything from him and it would be suspicious to start now— "More than anything."

He watched her for a moment, but he could feel the truth of the words in the Force. They _were_ true.

He smiled. "Then I have good news for you."

She didn't respond, just stayed, head to the ground, and waited for him to continue.

"Whereabouts are you now? I'm told you've left Naboo."

_I have spies. I can find out everything I need to know. Don't try to hide it from me._

She wasn't planning on it.

"Tatooine, Master."

The only reason she heard the sharp intake of breath was because she was listening for it.

So. He _had_ known about their. . . past. . . here.

"I was following a lead on Amidala. You know how fond the Rebels are of hiding in the Outer Rim." None of it was technically a lie. She let her distaste—for _him_ , but it could be easily misconstrued—seep into her voice as she continued, "I didn't find anything to do with her."

_I found so much more instead._

If Palpatine noticed her equivocation, he said nothing. "A disappointment, to be sure, but an unsurprising one. My dear, I've had time to cool my head since we last spoke, and I apologise for my hasty decision. From what I've heard, your actions on Naboo were to be commended. Your quick thinking saved my beloved home planet from who knows how much chaos and anarchy, and the Queen was saved by it. I've decided your talents would better serve me at home, and I would like you to return."

"Return?" It was everything Leia wanted—she needed to talk to Luke, her father, _as soon as possible_ —but she knew how he expected her to react. Any other reaction would be cause for suspicion. "But Master, I haven't succeeded in my mission—"

"It was foolish of me to expect you would." He smiled kindly, but she heard the insult in the generosity. "You are a child, and scores upon scores of adults have failed to find our quarry. Furthermore, you and your brother have always resisted working separately. It was a poor decision on my part to separate you." He smiled wider, and she couldn't help smiling back his time. She could go back to Luke! "I'd like you to return."

She lowered her head again. "I—" she forced the words out. "Thank you, Master. I'll return as soon as possible."

"I look forward to it."

The hologram winked out.

Leia lifted herself from the kneeling position and stared at the comlink. It was probably too late to comm Luke back—Force knew he'd probably moved onto something else already—but she smiled to herself, broadly. This was perfect.

She was going home.


	10. Second Shadow

Luke legged it out of the library as fast as he could go, his heart hammering in his chest. He'd activated his comlink and snapped out a quick summary of the situation to Palace security, ordered them to lock down all exits, halt all movement. There was a brief moment where he wasn't sure if they were going to take his orders—he _was_ in disgrace, after all—but once he'd summarised the situation (and thrown in a few cutting threats) they'd jumped into action.

Then he gave chase.

The Rebel's Force signature darted through the halls quickly, erratically, with no apparent rhyme or reason to his movements, but it was enough for Luke to sense him. No one else was that panicked, that on edge, even with the guards halting them in their places and the general tense atmosphere of the Imperial Palace. The Rebel stood out like a faint lodestar: dim and dying, but enough to guide one's way.

He was heading downwards.

There were fewer people in the lower levels, Luke knew—many were abandoned, save for a few _personal_ dungeons of Palpatine's, and there was no reason to return. In fact, enough retained the veneer they had when they'd been the old Jedi Temple that it could cast suspicion onto whatever curious soul wandered them.

If it was odd, living atop the past—the Jedi Temple was the Palace of the Sith Empire, the apartment of the Padmé Amidala now housed the Empire's greatest agents—Luke didn't waste a thought on it.

The Rebel was headed down there.

Logical for them, perhaps, but it was genuinely the worst thing the person could have done in that moment.

When Luke and Leia had first arrived on Coruscant, amid far too much pomp and ceremony for a ten-year-old's taste, they'd spent every spare moment they could running through the Palace, several royal red guards having to jog and curse to keep up. As the years passed and they began to know the place intrinsically, those red guards would often mysteriously lose sight of them.

They knew the shortcuts, the hiding places, the corners and corridors that looked dangerous but were as secure as could be if you trod carefully. The construction of the Imperial Palace atop the Jedi Temple had muddled the foundations and the lower levels in a way that couldn't be seen on blueprints, no matter how recent they were. The guards had never had a hope of finding them.

Initially, the one person who _had_ had a hope of finding them had been their father, who knew their minds through the Force as well as he knew his own. But he still had to navigate the treacherous passages, crumbling mortar, his lightsaber a poor substitute for the sunlight of the upper levels. It took a while.

Once they'd learned how to shield effectively, it took even longer.

This Rebel might be scurrying to the shadows to hide from the spotlight. . . but the shadows had always been the twins' playmates.

The deserted levels meant he stood out like a satellite on a starless night, and Luke had no issues tracking him. The man had slowed to a walk by now, presumably believing himself out of danger. No one would find him this far down, right?

There must be an entrance down here that the Rebels had cleared while they'd been in Kuat, Luke mused as he set about finding him. There had certainly been none viable before.

Luke kept his footsteps light; sound echoed loudly down here. He could hear the man's panting breaths like he was standing right behind him.

He was headed for one of the training rooms—or, at least, near to it. The training room closest to the equator, next to the younglings' dormitories—

Luke had an idea.

Fear was not something he actively sought. If his opponent wasn't smart enough to be afraid of him, that was on them. But he knew his father enjoyed the sensation of power it gave him—and it could also be a useful tool, sometimes.

He let himself tread heavily; the decisive _click-clack_ of his boots skittered away from him and down the hallway. He felt the man freeze, terror spiking: the echoes of his pursuer seemed to come from all around him.

Luke softened his tread again and broke into a light jog, as quiet as the wind.

He let some of his anger—bitterness he'd had to be in the Archives in the first place, seething resentment at his still-throbbing jaw, disgust at the thought the man had had the gall to penetrate so deeply into the heart of the Empire he served—run free.

Ice began to crystallise on the air.

Another spike of emotion from the man—apprehension, this time. Thoughts bombarded him: was this. . . normal? He was in the corpse of the Jedi Temple after all; the place had been picked clean and left to rot in the darkness. Was it. . . haunted?

Ridiculous, the man dismissed. Exaggerated stories of Vader and his spawn's witchcraft were messing with his head.

Amused, Luke light his lightsaber. That sound reverberated down the halls as well.

The man flinched. _Ghosts. . .?_

_Get a grip! Ghosts don't exist._

Luke scoffed at the man's rationalisation. While the Force probably resorted to something as crude as _ghosts_ only on rare occasions, that didn't mean they didn't or couldn't exist. Everyone left traces of who they were, what they built; Coruscant was full of them. Buildings on top of buildings, billions of people eking out their lives in an ever-changing dichotomy of the dark and the light. Property shifted, people shifted, the _galaxy_ shifted, and people went on regardless, entirely unaware of the imprints around them.

They were _living_ on a planet of ghosts.

It had been. . . dizzying. . . when Luke had first arrived.

But he had wasted enough time on games. The man was tense, nervous, everything short of terrified. It wouldn't take much to push him over the edge.

He was heading for the training room—was nearly _at_ the training room. Luke reached out, used the Force to tug on a wall he _knew_ was unstable. . .

It crumbled directly in front of the man.

He jerked back, heart-pounding.

Coincidence or not? He couldn't decide. But that had been his only exit.

_Come on,_ Luke urged, _take the bait. . ._

The man turned to the door nearest—the only other door in the corridor that wasn't conveniently blocked off. Luke held his breath. . .

. . .and the man walked right into the younglings' dormitory, just as he'd anticipated.

The man's horror wasn't as sharp an emotion as his fear, dull-edged. It began as an idle observation of a pale, dusty item his foot collided with and sent skittering away into the shadows. Then he saw another, and another—and it began to dawn on him.

The room had two entrances, on two separate levels. Luke took a brief shortcut and emerged into the mezzanine above the Rebel, careful not to be heard before he wanted.

He needn't have bothered. The truth had hit the man by now, sucker-punched him in the gut, leaving him breathless. His eyes blew wide in the faint light of his glowrod.

When Luke and Leia had been thirteen and even more dramatic than they were now, they'd called this place the Chamber of Bones.

The reason why was fairly clear.

This was where the corpse of every Jedi Master, Knight, Padawan and youngling had been dragged after Order 66. The clonetroopers had piled them all in here and set them aflame. A funeral pyre the galaxy would never see.

They'd burned until the flesh had peeled from their body and disintegrated, only their bones remaining. Then Palpatine had ordered they stop, the fires be put out, and the bones kept in that one room in the lowest reaches of the Palace.

This was where his master came when he wanted to gloat in a more personal manner. This was where all the lightsabers taken from fallen Jedi—save the ones his father kept as trophies—had been thrown. Their glinting hilts lay among the bones, the ashes and ruins of a failed, meaningless order. A _dead_ order.

Someday, even the ghost of it would vanish off of Coruscant forever, as all things were wont to do.

Luke and Leia would have been banned from coming here, had their father had his way, but Palpatine had said he wanted to show them exactly where the Jedi Order's failures had led them. So they'd come anyway, and played among the ghosts and the shadows.

Now, the man stared around in a sort of muted terror. Luke couldn't really blame him: he supposed that if he stumbled upon a room full of children's bones, he might be a little bit fazed as well.

The man reached with shaking fingers for a lightsaber hilt near to his foot. I was too dark and too distant for Luke to make out any of the hilt's characteristics, but there was a _snap-hiss_ as the man pressed the ignition button experimentally, and a vivid yellow blade erupted from the emitter.

He stared at it, wide-eyed, then held it out in front of him. His eyes travelled along the hilt, up the blade. . . and further.

Further, to where by the light of the glowrod and the saber, Luke's pale features stood out like a phantom's.

The man screamed.

Luke reigned in his grin, lit his lightsaber and jumped.

He landed with a _crunch_ , punching holes straight through two skeletons' ribcages and skidding forwards, the Force softening his landing. The man backed off, drenched in fear, but a wave of Luke's hand and the door behind him locked.

Luke took a step forward. His lightsaber cast an eerie glow across the bones. "Why were you in the Archives?"

_Use_ that fear—that was what all of this had been about. Terrify your opponent before the confrontation even begins, and the battle's half won. He needed information; now, the man was all the more ready to give it.

Theoretically.

The man flinched back at the question, but he set his jaw and stubbornly avoided Luke's gaze.

He was still holding the yellow lightsaber out in front of him.

There was a blur of red, a shout of pain, and that lightsaber fell to the ground—along with the hand holding it.

The man crumpled. Luke punched him in the face,

A wheezing, choking sound; blood seeped onto Luke's hand, the floor. He ignored it.

"Why were you in the Archives?" he repeated, low and dangerous.

The security failings apparent in his infiltration wasn't his focus right now: someone else could deal with that. There was his stolen uniform to examine; witnesses to interview; surveillance to pore over.

What he couldn't find from any of that—what he _needed_ to know—was _why_.

The man spat blood in his face and lashed out with his leg.

Luke staggered back momentarily, already recovering from the blow, but it was enough time for the man to get his remaining hand up and flash the glowrod in his face.

It made no difference: it dazzled him but didn't slow him; he had the Force, and that was all he needed. He just shoved himself forward, slamming him against the locked door, and waited for the spots to clear.

But it made a difference to the man.

His arms went limp, the glowrod tumbling out of his grip; a breath rushed out of him. His shock was resonant in the Force.

When Luke's vision cleared, he was staring at him.

"Kriff," the man said, more blood spurting from his nose with every breath. "You're a _kid_."

Luke ground his teeth together and punched him again.

The man sunk to the floor, still staring. Then he started talking.

"How old are you—sixteen? Seventeen?" He shook his head. "You're the same age as my son was. You—" Realisation hit him. His eyes flicked down to Luke's lightsaber. "You're one of the demon twins, aren't you? Vader's spawn."

Luke crouched down in front of him. "Who I am is irrelevant. What's important is that I'm the one holding a lightsaber, and I want to know what you were doing in the Archives."

"What has your father made you?" the man continued, not even looking at Luke. He doubted he'd even heard him. "My son grew up in the slums of Coruscant, but I'd _never_ teach him to become a monster— _agh—_ "

Luke could deal with slights about his age. He could handle people underestimating him, disrespecting him, _pitying_ him.

But a slight against his father?

He tightened his grip on the man's throat, feeling the power and the intoxicating anger rush through him. . .

. . .and then he thought of Mara Jade, resolutely, ruthlessly still as his father punished her for telling the truth, and he let go.

Rebel or not, that had always seemed an ugly way to die.

Instead, he just spat, "Then clearly he was a better father than you were."

"Vader _killed_ my son," the man spat back. "My harmless teenage son. If he had the heartlessness to do _that_ , as a parent himself, then he's either a monster, a poor excuse for a father, or both." His lips twisted in a feral half-snarl. "My credit's on both—"

Luke knocked him out.

Not with the Force—that was too merciful. He slammed his head against the wall behind him and only vaguely hoped he didn't have any fatal damage.

"If you won't tell me what you were doing in the Archives _now_ ," he said into the silence, for no one's benefit but his own, "then you'll tell us under interrogation."

Luke had a job to do.

He couldn't get caught up in all these personal vendettas, give into his rage. He needed to protect the Palace and everyone in it.

Including his father.

Luke shook his head and eyed the body.

It would be a long trek up to the surface,

* * *

Leia's ship touched down on the landing pad outside the Imperial Palace, and she was out of the cockpit before the engines even shut off.

She bounced on the balls of her feet as the landing ramp descended. Luke and her father were standing outside ready to greet her; she could sense them. The ramp was moving too slowly—

But then it was down, and she rushed out, breath shooting out of her lungs when someone slammed into her. She buried her head in Luke's shoulder as he lifted her off the ground and spun her around a few times, then brought her back to a halt.

Still, neither of them let go.

There was a pointed cough from Palpatine.

They let go. Leia didn't know why these displays of affection were being frowned upon—it wasn't like there were any troops around to see it—but she was back on Palpatine's goodwill. She didn't want to lose it.

So she just linked arms with her brother instead, enjoying the feeling of _actually being able to sense him in the Force_ , and grinned at him. "What happened to your face?"

Luke free hand came up to gingerly touch the _spectacular_ violet bruise across his nose and cheek, and drawled, "I got punched."

"Only once?"

He shot her a look; she threw up her hands. "I'm just saying."

He glanced down, his lips tilted up, but then he gestured with his head towards Vader and Palpatine, and they wordlessly agreed to continue this conversation later.

Vader's hand settled on Leia's shoulder when they drew close enough; she wanted to throw herself at him, hug him, but she had the funny feeling Palpatine might object to that as well.

And, she conveyed to Luke through a nudge over their newly-reactivated bond, they had a few _questions_ they needed to ask him.

"My dear," Palpatine said, calling her attention back to him. He smiled—it was the same smile he'd always used, every twitch of every muscle identical, but it looked. . . sinister to Leia now, in a way it hadn't been before. This was the smile of the man who'd electrocuted her brother, who'd sent her away from her family; how could his warm, grandfatherly act work anymore? "I am glad to see you safe and well."

She reluctantly extricated herself from Luke to give a short—shallower than usual, but not disrespectful—bow. "And I you, Master."

"Ah, but you will have to tell me of all your travels," he continued, placing a hand on her hand to start guiding her inside. She cast a nervous glance at Luke, but he was following dutifully; the slight quirk to his eyebrow made her lips twist upward slightly. "Come into the throne room, all three of you."

He cast a pointed glance at Vader.

"And then we can talk."

* * *

The throne room was empty save for the two Inquisitors standing guard in the corner as they always did. Luke wasn't sure what the point of them was—whether Palpatine made them fight for his own entertainment, enjoyed riling them up and eviscerating them with his careful words, or even just liked to watch his servants serve him—but he recognised one of them as Jade, who watched him from behind her mask. Still and impassive.

He and Leia knelt in front of Palpatine, as they always did, while their father hovered behind them almost protectively. Leia gave her report in succinct, measured bursts—though Luke didn't fail to note how she didn't elaborate on what exactly had happened on her detour to Tatooine.

Palpatine nodded once when she was done. "Good—you have done well in helping to handle the uprising on Naboo. Do you know who was responsible?"

"Yes, Master. I believe Saw Gerrera and his partisans were the instigators."

"Just as they were on Kuat," he observed. "Strange, that Amidala does not seem to have the same taste for anarchy that Gerrera does."

Vader tensed behind him at the Rebel leader's mention, but said nothing.

Palpatine turned his attention on Luke. "You," he said, "have already given me your briefing on your skirmish in the Archives yesterday."

Where was he going with this? "Yes, Master, the Rebel—"

"Hasn't revealed much under interrogation, I am told." Palpatine raised his eyebrows. "Only his name and one word, I believe?"

Luke gritted his teeth. "Yes, Master, the interrogators are still working on him, but—"

"What do you know of this attack so far?"

The question caught him off-guard—Luke had, of course, submitted multiple reports detailing the events during the previous days, _on top of_ the work he was supposed to do in the Archives, but he rattled off, "The Rebel's name is Lacert Visz, he's a native Coruscanti human, fifty standard years old. The datapad he seemed to show an interest in held the blueprints to the central power distribution grid, but we've no idea if that was really his target or just a cover—"

"What has he revealed under interrogation?"

"I worked on him briefly when I could, and he showed familiarity when I mentioned Amidala, which indicates of course that this infiltration _was_ linked to her"—or _them_ , if Leia's theory about her was wrong—"unlike the attacks on Kuat and Naboo. However, this is mere conjecture—"

"Was there anything else you found?"

Luke swallowed. "Yes, Master. We got one word out of him: _Eclipse_."

Palpatine cocked his head. " _Eclipse_?"

"Yes."

"Interesting. And you could find no. . . _context_. . . for this?"

"No, Master. Anything we could come up with at this point would be a guess, but mine would be that it's a codeword for whatever operation the Rebels are planning."

"I see." Palpatine pursed his lips, looking thoughtful for a moment. "And you have no idea what that operation might be?"

"None, Master."

"Then I'm tasking you with finding out." Luke exchanged a glance with Leia. "I want the two of you to investigate this further, until you can find some concrete answers. Try to stay on Coruscant, but I understand if this task leads you. . . far astray." Luke had no idea what Palpatine's smile might mean. "I'll assign someone else to the Archives, and to hunt down Amidala."

Glancing at Jade from the corner of his eye, Luke saw an opportunity, and took it. "Master?"

"Yes, Luke?"

He lifted his chin to look Palpatine in the eye. "If I may make a suggestion as to who should pursue Amidala in Leia's place? I believe Admiral Thrawn would be a suitable choice."

Jade hid her shock well, but he was looking for it, so he felt it.

"Thrawn?" Palpatine sat forward, intrigued. "Why him?"

"He's demonstrated an unparalleled ability to think outside the box, and I respect him immensely for that. Chasing the Rebellion is like chasing shadows. And while no one may have the creativity to catch shadows, I believe that Thrawn would be the most likely candidate to think of a way." He didn't back down from Palpatine's questioning probe; he just said flatly, "I am certain he would rise to the task."

Palpatine was silent for several long moments.

"I will think about it," he said.

When Luke was dismissed from the room a little while later, he didn't so much as glance at Jade. But he felt her gaze burning a hole in his back nevertheless.


	11. Shatterpoint Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh this is one of my favourite chapters, you have no idea how excited I am to be able to finally post it

The moment they arrived back at the apartment, Leia let go of everything she wanted to ask.

"Were Luke and I raised on Tatooine?"

Luke stared at her. Vader stared at her. Leia didn't care.

She was tired from the journey; Luke and Palpatine's strange conversation had given her a headache to comprehend; her curiosity was eating her alive. She didn't have the patience to tiptoe around this. She wanted _answers_.

Her father still didn't say anything.

Luke flopped onto the sofa and buried his face in a pillow, no doubt in an attempt to hide from the fireworks about to go off. Leia just planted her hands on her hips and stared at Vader, his hulking figure backlit by Coruscant's jewel-bright twilight skyline.

"Well?" she pushed, self-righteous in her indignation, forceful in her _need to know_. "Were we?"

A breath hissed out of Vader's respirator. "Your report did not cover everything you did on that disgusting planet, did it?"

"Evidently not. Now stop avoiding the question."

Vader was silent for several long moments. With every rasping breath he took, Leia felt the tension build, and build, and build—

"Yes," Vader ground out. "I told you before that had Palpatine not lied to me about your mother's death, I would have found you all the sooner. That is true. I believed you dead, because. . . He told me I had killed her while she was pregnant. And the child too—we hadn't known we'd be having twins."

"How could you have _not known_ —"

"Because the relationship was a secret," Luke said. Leia glanced over at him—he'd detached his face from the pillow and was watching their father through narrowed eyes. "They never went to a doctor because the relationship was a secret. _Right_ , Father? Jedi weren't allowed to marry senators."

Luke voice was more cutting than Leia had ever heard it; Vader jerked back as if he'd been shot. " _What_? Where did you—"

"Are you or are you not Anakin Skywalker? And was she or was she not Padmé Amidala?"

Vader stared at him. Leia stared as well: he hadn't told her that. They'd probably been interrupted too early.

"Yes," Vader said finally, head bowed. "She was."

" _What_?" Leia shot to her feet. "Our mother is a _Rebel_ —"

"Your mother is _dead_ —that terrorist defiles her name with every action they take—"

"—and you didn't think it _pertinent_ to _tell me that_ before I was _sent to hunt her down_ —"

"Father," Luke snapped, "why were we on Tatooine?"

Leia forced herself to calm down. Tatooine. Right. They could argue about her father's actions when they finally knew what, exactly, those actions had _been_.

"Yes," she added her dissent. "Tell us."

She could tell that Vader wanted to avoid the question again. His hands were clasped behind his back, his shoulders half-turned towards the twilight of the cityscape. But his mask faced Luke, and his head was completely still.

Leia glanced at her brother. He'd pushed himself up to sit on the sofa, his fists clenched on his knees, his back arched and gaze riveted to the floor.

She reached out to him and was batted away.

She pursed her lips, but Luke just lifted his head slowly to glare at their father.

Perhaps it was the glare that did it. Luke was the most affectionate of them all, on top of his hero worship; the idea of him _glaring_ at Vader was completely alien. But here he was.

In lying about something so major, for so long, Vader might have caused damage he couldn't easily undo.

After a moment's hesitation, he started talking.

"Shortly after I turned to the dark side, your mother came to meet me on Mustafar. We. . . quarrelled, and. . . I was new to the Sith," he argued, "and you know how it feels, it's difficult to control—"

No one interrupted him; he interrupted himself. Luke had gone back to staring at his knees, completely closed off.

"I choked her," Vader said finally. "I was so angry I choked my heavily pregnant wife into unconsciousness. After that, I duelled with the Jedi Kenobi—he'd stowed away on her ship, I'd believed she'd betrayed me, that was what triggered my reaction—" He swallowed. " I duelled him. He cut off my three remaining limbs and left me to burn on Mustafar. Palpatine saved me," he gestured to his suit, "and put me in _this_.

"And when I woke up. . . Palpatine was there. I asked where Padmé was, if she was safe, and he said— he said that I had killed her. It was a logical conclusion to draw that I had therefore killed the two of you as well. But Palpatine had lied.

"I believed that lie for seven years."

"And what happened then?" Leia scoffed. "You just. . . dropped by Tatooine for a visit?"

"I was hunting Obi-Wan Kenobi. I wanted revenge on everything he'd done to me."

Leia folded her arms across her chest. The anger inside her was just as surprising to her as to her father; she hadn't been this angry when she first learned the truth, she'd just been. . . confused. But standing here now, having the full truth of it sink in, having her father _try to defend himself—_

No wonder Luke was so closed off.

"I'd heard rumours about a Jedi supposedly living in the Jundland Wastes. Even if it wasn't Kenobi, I wanted to kill something. And yet when I flew through the desert and paused to investigate a strange mirage in the Force"— _mirage_ ; there was that word again— _"_ I was greeted by a little boy."

Luke lifted his head to look his father in the eye.

Vader said softly, "I knew who you were the moment I laid eyes on you."

A flicker of emotion crossed her brother's face, but it was too quick to identify and she still couldn't get a read on him. They were both too shut off.

They needed to have a long, in-depth chat after this.

"So you took us, and put blocks in our memories?" Leia prompted, tone flat. She raised an eyebrow at her father. It was strange seeing such a massive man fidget, but that was exactly what he did.

". . .yes," he said. "You were staying with Owen Lars, my _stepbrother_ from my mother's marriage. I'd met him only once before, and there certainly wasn't enough goodwill between us to spare his life—nor that of his wife. They'd kidnapped you.

"And when Kenobi sensed their deaths, and understood what was happening, he came to face me and kidnap you again." His voice was dark, almost savage, when he said, "I killed him before he even came _near_ you."

A muscle twitched in Luke's jaw.

"And then I took you back to Mustafar, and told Palpatine of your existence. He let me keep you, train you."

"And you put a block in our memories?" Leia pushed. It was the only thing that made sense—she remembered none of this, and she was pretty sure she should, by age seven.

Vader ground out, "Yes."

"Take it out."

They both turned to Luke, startled. His eyes were narrowed even further, fixed on Vader's mask.

"Take it out," he challenged. "They're _my_ memories—I want them back."

Her father seemed hesitant. "Now?"

"Now." Luke tilted his chin up. "You neglected to mention that our mother was Padmé Amidala; we had to work that out on our own. You neglected to mention that we were raised on Tatooine; we had to work _that_ out on our own. _And_ you neglected to even give us our _names_ —"

"Skywalker is _weak_ , and _dead_ , and you should take _no pride_ in carrying something associated with him—"

"Is there anything else you're hiding from us?" There was an edge to his voice; it worried Leia. "Any other lies you wish to tell? If so, feel free to leave the block in." A bitter smile. "I'm sure it would make things easier for you."

Vader took a small step forward, uncertainty in every line of his posture. "Luke. . ."

" _Do it_." His voice cracked slightly; he glanced away, eyes glistening. "Just. . . please, do it."

It was the tears that pushed Vader over the line; Leia was sure of it. Within a few strides he was kneeling in front of Luke and placing a hand on his forehead.

"Here," he murmured.

It was odd watching it as an outsider. Leia knew the sort of fine, delicate work needed to both erect and deconstruct mental blocks, the finesse and skill. It was sometimes even a challenge just getting past a person's shields with minimal damage; even in a trained Force-sensitive who could lower the instinctive barriers by will, it required an enormous amount of deep-seated, intrinsic trust.

Luke trusted Vader intrinsically. At least, he had.

After this. . . maybe not.

They sat there for a long while, Luke's eyes closed and forehead slightly creased.

She spotted it the moment the block collapsed: Luke's eyes flew open and he gasped, clutching at his head. Vader drew back and watched him react, as impassive as ever.

Luke flinched, holding the bridge of his nose gently. Leia reached out to him—

_—SEARING SUNLIGHT, LUKE LEIA LUKE DO YOU WANT TO PLAY WITH ME ONE DAY I'M GONNA THREAD THE NEEDLE BEGGAR'S CANYON LUKE COME INSIDE IT'S GETTING DARK MAKE SURE YOU DO YOUR CHORES PAY ATTENTION YOU'RE TOO MUCH LIKE YOUR FATHER LEIA SIT UP STRAIGHT LET ME SHOW YOU HOW TO MAKE THAT MODEL WOULD YOU LIKE TO LEARN HOW I MAKE BLUE MILK PUDDING YOU CAN WASTE TIME WHEN YOUR CHORES ARE DONE YOU TWO NEED TO MAKE FRIENDS BEYOND BIGGS YOU CAN'T SPEND YOUR LIVES TOGETHER YOU HAVE TO GROW UP SOMEDAY—_

—and drew back just as hastily, head ringing from the onslaught.

Luke threw himself to his feet and fled the room. Vader watched him go, not rising from his kneeling position.

"Let him learn to deal with it on his own," he said in response to Leia's instinct to run after her brother. She wanted to know what was going on—what had their life been _like_ —but she didn't want that chaos inside her head.

Vader turned the mask towards her. She sensed regret in him. "Would you like the block removed as well?"

She nodded—once, then more vehemently.

Because, chaos or not, Luke was right. Without those memories—even _with_ them—they had no idea if their father was lying to them about anything else. And while there were some secrets which he certainly _should_ be keeping. . . there were others which he certainly _shouldn't_.

"Do it."

* * *

Luke didn't know how long he'd lain in bed, staring at the ceiling, and dived into the depths of colour, sound, smell, touch, taste that had previously existed only in his nightmares.

He understood now—and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Vader's reticence to talk about their mother.

That strange mirage that shimmered every time he tried to remember anything from before.

And those nightmares, those recurrent, endless nightmares, of desert dunes sloping away from him and the suns bleeding the sky red and a bone-deep cold despite them, despite the metal hand clutched around his, that inescapable feeling of being. . .

. . .kidnapped, confused, afraid, mournful, sadness, like a knife in his chest. . .

Lost.

Being lost.

It made a horrible amount of sense.

He'd thought they were visions. Metaphorical, perhaps—a period in his future where he _would_ be alone, _would_ be afraid and hurting—or just spot on. A future where he had to wander the desert feeling like he'd been simultaneously savaged and sheltered by a feral nexu.

It wasn't the future; it was the past.

The Force telling him what had happened? Or his own memory, his own _power_ , rebelling against the lies his father told him over and over?

His name was Luke Skywalker.

He'd lived on Tatooine.

He'd lived with two moisture farmers. Owen and Beru Lars, he remembered. Aunt Beru had drilled it into the both of them mercilessly: if you're ever lost, say _my aunt and uncle are Owen and Beru Lars, they run a moisture farm near Anchorhead. . ._

He couldn't remember their faces. It was all a blur.

It made him cry harder.

Because sudden _emotions_ were welling up in his chest, spilling out; he'd _loved_ them, he and Leia had _loved_ them, they were their _family_. He'd forgotten what it felt like, hadn't felt it in ten years, and now it demanded his attention. It should have run its course by now, years ago.

Instead, it had festered behind hat _blasted mind block—_

A violent resentment surged in his throat his chest; he sucked in his breath. He _hated_ his father for taking this from him. He'd _killed them_.

He _lied_.

He'd stolen their memories, and Luke had unknowingly rewarded him for it by giving him _everything he had_.

He was the father Luke had dreamed about for so long—not a navigator on a spice freighter, after all.

Luke had given him too much credit.

Luke had given him _everything_. And Vader hadn't given anything in return, he'd just. . . taken.

Taken, and taken, and taken.

He didn't know why he was surprised. His father was the Emperor's executioner: he took lives left, right and centre. What were a few memories compared to _that_?

How could he possibly think twice about ripping their lives asunder when he did it to others with such wild abandon?

Why would Luke be any different?

Tears burned behind his eyelids.

He'd wandered outside that day. He shouldn't have wandered outside that day.

But he'd wanted to be there to greet Uncle Owen when he came back from fixing the 'vaporators; Leia had broken his T-16 model and he'd wanted to get away from their quarrel; he'd wanted to watch the sun set over the homestead. . . There were so many reasons.

None of them mattered now.

Because he'd decided to walk up to that strange droid-he-somehow-knew-was-a-man on the speeder and hadn't thought to run when it collapsed to his knees before him and hugged him.

And then, not ten minutes later, the furor, horror, _terror_ that tore through his aunt's face before the lightsaber tore through her body. Someone had screamed—Luke, Leia, both? He couldn't remember.

He couldn't remember, because it had been _ten years_ and _his father hadn't told him_ —

Leia had hated Vader instantly. She'd kicked and screamed when he wrapped a hand round her bicep, sobbed when he'd killed Old Ben in front of them as well—they hadn't been all that fond of Old Ben, but they'd _known of_ him, he'd come to _save_ them from the monster—and hadn't quietened until Vader forced her to.

Luke's fist twisted in the pillowcase.

No wonder they were both so desensitised to violence. He and Leia—

Leia.

He threw himself upright.

_Leia_.

Now he dragged himself out of his own thoughts, he could hear her emotions banging on his mind. There wasn't as much despair as there was inside him; Leia never had time for that. Instead there was _anger_ , an all-consuming, all-encompassing rage—

There was a crash from the next room over.

Luke was on his feet and out of the room before he even thought. He strode past his father, who had turned from facing the window to look towards Leia, and just said, "Don't." His voice was hard.

Vader didn't.

Luke did. He opened Leia's bedroom door without even knocking and ducked the hairbrush that came flying for his face.

"If you were aiming for Father's mask, you need to work on your aim. He's taller than me."

Leia chucked a comb at him for good measure. "Have you come to tell me to _calm down_?"

He caught it, and tossed it to the side.

"No," he said baldly. "I'm angry too." He summoned her lightsaber from its position on her bedside table and held it out as a peace offering. "I figured we could be angry together."

Leia glared at the saber for a moment, then yanked it out of his hand. "Get ready to be beaten into a pulp."

He snorted. "Don't flatter yourself."

* * *

" _That_ "—slash, slash, downward stab—" _utter_ piece of"—a roll, a duck as the red blade whistled over her head, teeth gritting as it sliced away a few burning hairs—" _lying_ "—a flash of yellow as they connected, the crash resounding in her ears—" _poodoo_."

"I guess this explains why we took to Huttese so well in languages class."

Her saber soared down over her head, two hands on the hilt, to collide with Luke's again. She yanked it back and brought it down again, _harder_ , like a hammer on an anvil. It was cathartic. "How"— _crash_ —"are you"— _crash—_ "so"— _crash_ —" _calm_!"

"Trust me." Luke stepped back and her slash sliced through the air where he had been, hard enough to cleave flesh and bone had they still been there. "I'm not."

"Then why—" She stopped mid-swing, answering her own question with a bitter laugh. "You're _pretending_ for me."

"It makes it easier to hold together."

"You don't need to _pretend_. I remember when you had a complete and utter meltdown because you wet the bed." Slash, hack. "At least, I do _now_."

"Please," Luke scoffed. "We both know I wet the bed _long_ after we arrived on Mustafar."

A laugh ripped out of her at that, no humour to it. She dropped her lightsaber; it clattered away across the floor as she dragged her hands across her face. "That was awful."

She kept laughing anyway.

And sobbing.

She crumpled to the floor.

Luke sank down next to her. He was sobbing too.

For a moment they sat in silence, just looking around the room. After they'd first come to Coruscant, Vader had bought—well, _commandeered_ , more like—both the ex-apartment of Padmé Amidala and the one below it, the latter being converted into a massive nexus of training rooms. It had been a place to train when they didn't want to deal with the half hour speeder ride to the Imperial Palace, somewhere the twins could grow accustomed to how noisy and _cramped_ Coruscant felt through the Force, without having to interact with the people who made it that way.

In theory, at least.

Now, Leia had to wonder if he'd just wanted a place to spar so that Palpatine couldn't keep too close a tab on their respective skills.

She was questioning _everything_ now—had been since Vader told them about his coup, had been since she started looking into Padmé _kriffing_ Amidala, who was her _mother,_ and now she _couldn't even trust her own memories_ , and— and—

And she hated it.

She buried her head in her hands.

Luke's voice was ragged as he said, "What are we going to do?"

"Beat you to a pulp, round two?" she suggested with no humour. A part of her was deadly serious—but the rest of her pointed out that a) she hadn't even beat Luke the first time, and b) he wasn't the person she wanted to be beating up.

He groaned, perhaps sensing both her intentions and their mutual exhaustion, and shifted so he rested his forehead on his knees. "You know full well that if you fight Father, he won't fight back."

"He might defend himself."

"No he won't. He's gone into one of his rare depressing moods, where he just stands there muttering about how he doesn't deserve us and would say thank you if a lightsaber ran him through. I can sense it."

"He _doesn't_ deserve us."

"But do you really want to kill him?"

Leia opened her mouth—then closed it again.

Because the disturbing thing was, when she was at the height of her anger and her hatred. . . she _could_ imagine herself doing that with little to no regret. Her anger was akin to her father's in its magnitude, and the _only person in the galaxy_ who was safe from it was. . . Luke.

No matter how unbelievably furious she was at her brother, she could never hurt him.

At least, not badly. All was fair in sharing bunk beds and stealing leftovers.

"I want to kill Palpatine," she said instead. She didn't know how to explain that to Luke now—she would do it later, when they'd calmed down and could deal with more shocks and fractures to their tight-knit family unit. "He _knew_."

Everything was shattering—and it was her father's mistake.

"Join the bandwagon. Everyone wants to kill Palpatine. Side effect of being the Emperor of the known galaxy." He nudged her with his elbow. "One day, you'll be the one everyone's trying to kill."

"Thanks for the reassurance," she drawled. "Are you gonna be one of those people trying to kill me?"

"Of course not!" He looked jokingly offended by the mere idea, but she knew he was genuine. "I'll be protecting you. I'll always be on your side."

"Even if I defected to the Rebels?"

She didn't know where the words came from—and she was _beyond_ grateful that they came out as a joke, so no one could hear the genuine doubts behind them. She just knew that somewhere between the barrage of new memories and the knowledge that Padmé Amidala was her mother, it had slotted itself into her mind that _she had family who were Rebels_.

It had slotted itself into her mind that she wasn't as vehemently against the idea as she might have been before.

The Alliance were against Palpatine, after all.

In fact, the only problem she had with them at all right now was that they were against her father.

Her father, who had apparently been lying to her for ten years without a hint of remorse.

Luke froze at the insinuation.

She cursed herself. She couldn't hide things like that behind jokes; Luke knew her far, far too well, he'd see through it in a heartbeat and ask questions she couldn't answer—

"If you were to defect to the Rebels," he said slowly, "I'd do my utmost best to understand _why_. Because I know you, I love you, and I trust that if you believe something's the right thing to do, then there's a good chance it is." He lay a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it lightly. "I'm on _your_ side. I don't care which side that is."

She bowed her head slightly. The grin she gave him was radiant. "Likewise."

" _'Likewise'_?" He snorted. "I say all those pretty words and you just say _'likewise'_? I thought _you_ were the orator here."

"I am." She grinned at him. "Good orators know when to shut up."

He laughed softly at that, but he worried at his lower lip a moment later.

"If. . . you _were_ considering leaving the Empire in favour of the Alliance," he said slowly. She sensed him cast his mind out, making sure no one— _least of all_ their father—would walk in on them, checking there was no surveillance. "Do you have any idea what particular motives you might have?"

Leia glanced up at her brother, eyes wide. She recognised what he was doing, and she knew why—and she loved him for it.

More than anything right now, she needed someone to confide in.

"I was doing some research on Amidala," she said slowly, "and. . . a lot of her ideas—the ones from the Clone Wars and before," she added, " _not_ any of the violent guerrilla attacks—seem. . . decent? At least." She took a deep breath. "A lot of what she did and what the Republic did doesn't quite fit in what Palpatine told me about the Old Republic. It sounds. . . better than he made it out to be. I don't know." She rubbed her arm, glancing at her lightsaber, lying innocuously on the floor. "Less fear."

"I know what you mean," Luke said. And he _meant_ it, which lifted the weight of _worlds_ off of Leia's shoulders. She wasn't the only one who'd been having doubts. "I've been thinking about how the Empire is run, what it means, and. . . I think Father's too harsh. On his troops, the Inquisitors—"

"The Inquisitors deserve it."

"Do they, though?" Luke pushed. "Why?"

Leia tried to find something to say, but came up blank. "I just. . ." _Don't like them_. That was a pathetic reason, and she knew it.

Luke shrugged. "Think about it. If Father hadn't _found_ us," he said the word with disdain, "and Palpatine had instead. . . would that be us?"

"If Palpatine had found us, the outcome would've been the same. He'd have given us to Father—"

"Would he?" She could tell by his tone that Luke was just wondering aloud. "Or would he have kept us in the Inquisitorius, kept us _loyal_ , and not told Father until he needed to use us as leverage?"

"I. . ." She hadn't thought about that before. It was clear Luke hadn't, either; they exchanged horrified glances.

Because they _knew_ which one it would've been.

"But I think the entire Empire is too cruel in its punishments," Luke continued softly. "You heard what Palpatine said—mercy fosters loyalty. And yet he never practices that tenet—not in any meaningful way. I think that if the galaxy is built on the people. . ."

". . .then keeping the people happy should be our priority," she finished. "I. . . can see where you're coming from."

He smiled softly. "Yeah, well." He glanced down at his lap. "It's just an idea."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. She was _tired_ , all of a sudden—her world had been shattered and reforged in the span of a few hours, and she wasn't sure how to feel about any of it.

But her brother was here. She was here. And, although she might be angry at him at the moment, her father was here as well.

Everything would be alright.

She closed her eyes. "It's just an idea," she echoed, murmuring, and desperately tried to ignore the unspoken words that hung on the air:

_For now._


	12. Dance of Denial

The next morning dawned bright and early, and for the first time in weeks Luke had slept without dreams.

He pulled himself out of bed with a groan, wondering idly why his head and body were aching so badly—then the previous afternoon hit him like a speeder.

Leia had indeed beat him into a pulp, and only partly because he'd let her. And because his brain was probably still adjusting to these new memories of his, of course.

Except they weren't _new_ , were they?

Luke closed his eyes, wincing.

His father had stolen their memories and lied about it for ten years.

The thought still sent a pang through his chest.

He took in a deep breath and expelled it slowly. Then he opened his eyes again.

He could dwell on it later—and he had no doubt he _would_ —but if he examined his feelings too closely _now_ , early in the morning when everything was fresh and raw, he'd drive himself insane. He needed to stay positive for the time being—mostly to stop his father from knowing exactly how deeply that had cut him, but also because Leia needed him to.

Grabbing his datapad from the bedside table as he headed to make himself some breakfast was such an instinctive motion that it took him a moment to process what he was seeing when he turned it on. Usually he knew exactly what assignment he was to carry out for the day, and reaching for his datapad was just a way to refresh his memory of the details; now, he realised he couldn't remember what Palpatine had ordered him to _do_ in lieu of working in the Archives again.

He'd had other things to think about last night.

The messages proudly displayed at the top of the screen reminded him.

Palpatine's aides had forwarded everything to him. The transcript of what the Rebel—Visz, his name had been, but the word _REBEL_ was the most prominent thing in the document's title—had confessed, exactly; a list of every Rebel code they knew of to date; the contact details of each Imperial intelligence operative to look to for context or information; a message saying that the very datapad Visz had tried to steal was available at the Palace upon his request; and everything else he could possible need or want for any investigation.

Eclipse.

It was a nice word, for a pretty thing—Luke had seen quite a few in his lifetime, some with multiple satellites and some with multiple suns. It was a perk of travelling, as well as being able to _choose_ where he travelled. But he doubted those thoughts would help, so he pushed them away.

Eclipse.

It had celestial imagery going for it as well. The darkness blotting out the light, if only momentarily; the corona and colours left behind when it did. He idly wondered if it might mean something, but dismissed the notion pretty quickly. The Rebels were too practical to choose a codeword for which the meaning could be derived _from the word itself_ , and chasing after it would be a waste of time.

He emerged into the main room to see Leia curled up in a armchair, toes tucked under her with her knees against the arm, a datapad identical to Luke's cradled in her lap. She glanced up at him when he came through; she looked exhausted.

"Great. You're awake."

He sat down opposite her. "You look awful."

"Thanks for being sensitive about it."

"I meant—" He shook his head. "You know what I meant."

A moment of silence, then she offered, "I didn't sleep well."

"Understandable." He was surprised he _had_ slept well—but then he supposed he'd worn himself out with all the emotion and sparring yesterday, and his body had _forced_ him to rest.

Leia was watching him nervously, and it suddenly hit him what they'd said in the training room. She said, "Look, Luke, about that whole defection thing—"

"You don't have to explain yourself. " He cast his senses out to check his father wasn't in the apartment; he saw Leia confirm it with a nod. "I told you, I've been having my doubts as well. It doesn't make us bad; no government's perfect. And with Father's coup, maybe we can change that." The last words sounded hollow, but he didn't want to think about that.

Leia, however, wasn't going to let _that_ part of his misgivings rest. "Not if Father's a part of the problem."

He winced. "Yeah, well. . . maybe we can reason with him. besides, you _know_ he doesn't want to rule himself. Once you're Empress, he technically can't oppose you."

" _Technically_."

"Can we not talk about this right now?" He shifted where he sat, antsy. He'd managed to crush all of these misgivings the previous night, lost in the blur of counter, parry and strike. He wanted them to resurface on _his_ terms, when _he_ wanted them to. And if that just happened to be never, then. . .

"He lied to us, Luke."

"He's our _father_." _I don't want him to be our enemy._

She met his eye levelly for a few moments, and they realised something at the precise same moment: Neither was going to back down on this.

There was no point in pushing.

"So, what about this assignment, huh?" Leia turned her attention back to her datapad. "Have you read all the documents attached to it?"

"I literally just woke up."

"That's a no, then." She grinned wickedly at him, and the awkwardness was past. "Such a slacker."

"I'll read them now," he grumbled, and switched on his datapad.

It didn't take too long: despite the abundance of possible resources, the actual information they had to go off was. . . pathetic.

"Eclipse", the datapad involved— _which might not even be the datapad they wanted—_ and the Rebel's name and home planet.

_But_ , they'd also found on Visz's person a datachip he'd already downloaded the contents of several pads onto. Once the slicers got into it, they'd at least know what he was after.

All in all, he was finished relatively quickly.

"Any ideas?" Leia asked as he lowered the datapad.

"Nope," he said, as much as he was loathe to admit it.

But she didn't tease him—for once. She just frowned and nodded grimly. "Alright. I'll head to the Palace and pick up the datapad and chip; we can have a look at what's on there before we start discussing ideas."

"I'll come with you," he said, already rising from his seat.

"No." He must have looked taken aback—even hurt—because she winced, but tried to play it off as, "Wearing _those_ clothes?"

Glancing down at his pyjamas, patterned with cartoons of various wildlife from around the galaxy, he crossed his arms over the big nerf on his front. "I'll be changed in a minute."

"Will you be _composed_ in a minute?" she asked—almost snapped, really, but he understood she was just slightly on edge. "Because after yesterday, I _don't think_ we want Palpatine looking too deeply into what happened or what we know, and we both know what happened to you the last time Father revealed something shocking."

He cringed back at the memory of the Velts, of the lightning, of Leia's face contorted in fury. _This is not justice_.

His sister's face softened. "I'm sorry," she said softly, "that was uncalled for. But I don't think you'll be able to act like everything's fine."

"And you?"

She gave a bitter smile. "I'm a politician. I was trained by the best."

He took a deep breath. "Alright." To his own surprise, he stepped forward to hug her—and was surprised when she hugged him back, resting her head against the nerf on his chest. "I'll see you in an hour."

"You'd better be changed by then," she commented, smirking at his pyjamas again.

"I will be!"

* * *

Despite her words of bravado to Luke, Leia didn't want to spend too much time in the Palace. She didn't trust herself not to give anything away when under close scrutiny.

Nevertheless, she found upon requesting the evidence from Palace staff, that she had to report directly to Palpatine to get it.

It was petty, beneath him, to do so. But she had a suspicion why he did.

She and Luke hadn't exactly been _subtle_ in their emotional turmoil the previous day. There was a good chance Palpatine had sensed it.

She suppressed a grimace. She didn't have the patience—or the mental capacity—to deal with his manipulations right now.

But she had to. So she strode into the throne room and knelt, clipping out her request before he could get a word in edgewise.

Palpatine was silent for a moment, staring down at her kneeling form.

When he spoke, it wasn't to address her request.

"I sensed a great disturbance in the Force last night," he said instead. "Did you. . . also, sense something?" She was silent, and he pushed, a dangerous edge to his voice, "I believe you and your family may be at the heart of it."

"We were, Master," she said. He'd know if she lied, and with their burgeoning coup—which she was sure would go ahead despite this. . . hiccup—on the horizon, she didn't want to arouse more suspicion than necessary. "A minor argument between us, there's some lingering resentment"—not, exactly, a lie—"but I'm sure it'll fade with time."

"I see," Palpatine said. "And, do you remember what I said to you a few weeks ago? About my visions of your father getting. . . hurt?"

Leia swallowed, glad that the angle of her position meant he couldn't see her expression. "I remember, Master."

_He knew._

He knew about the coup, somehow. He had to—come to think of it, hadn't Vader said that he'd had spies on the _Devastator_? There was no way he didn't know.

Especially with this line of enquiry. . .

"I've been meaning to ask if you've had any insight into why that might be?"

She couldn't _lie. N_ ot outright, at least. There was the risk he'd be able to tell, and while she may do nothing more than amuse him, she didn't want to lose the privileged position she had as one of his confidants—as his _successor_.

No matter what she said, it had to leave him with the idea that if events played out in his favour—if he _ensured_ they played out in his favour—she could still be his, mind, body and spirit.

What had her father described the Inquisitors as? _Palpatine's creatures._

If he didn't believe she was one as well, he'd stop trying to win them back. He'd stop pretending to be kind, and he'd go straight for the throat.

"My father has always been reckless, Master," she said, making sure to advertise potential split loyalties in that comment alone—her father, or her master? "Especially with himself. I feel he's growing more and more disillusioned with the brutality and manipulations Imperial Court"— _and its leader_ —"and may do rash something about it."

"Rash." He rolled the word around his mouth, familiar with it. It was what he'd used to describe him, weeks ago now. "I understand. But can you just clarify for me," he pushed, "what you mean by _brutality_?"

_Force,_ she hated him doing that.

She hated him nitpicking her turns of phrase during their lessons, and _she hated it now_.

But she had learned well.

She lifted her chin and met his eye stoically, face impassive, as she said, "You know the court, Master. They'll betray anyone to stay in power." She tilted her head; her braids shifted with the movement. "Or keep it."

Palpatine laughed. He sounded genuinely delighted.

"My dear," he said, rising from his seat and approaching. She rose to her feet, taking a respectful step back, but he placed a gnarled hand on her shoulder. She forced herself to meet his eye. "It's always a pleasure talking with you. Here." He handed over a sealed, translucent bag; she could see the shape of a datapad and chip inside it. "Take it—I've kept you long enough, and you and your brother should get started soon. I'd hate to keep you from the investigation."

She took the bag almost a little too eagerly, then remembered herself and let her hand fall to her side once she held it. She heard it rustle as she bowed.

"Thank you, Master," she said, then turned to leave.

"And, Leia." Palpatine's voice stalled her in her place. For a moment she stared at the doors longingly, the red guards on either side, then turned back to face him. His face was shadowed by his hood; all she could make out were the sickly glow of his eyes and the yellowing slash of his grin. "If your father _does_ happen to have any. . . bad ideas, you'll be sure to report them to me, won't you? I assure you I'll be most grateful."

For a moment she almost gaped.

Was— was he _bribing_ her?

Did he think he had enough of a hold on her that once the dice fell where they must, she'd side with him over her father?

He had to.

That had been the entire point of her act, wasn't it?

_Your arrogance is your weakness,_ she thought, staring at him, but had the tact not to say it aloud.

Instead, she bowed.

"Of course, Master," she said. "It would be my honour."

"Good." He smiled. Then, because he no doubt wanted to test his new spy— "You and Luke. . . you mean so much to him, you know? He'd never, ever lie to you." Her heart flopped uncomfortably in her chest at _that_ choice of words— _how much did he know about last night_ —but then he said, "You're his twin suns. I don't know what he'd do without you."

For a moment, she stood frozen.

Palpatine inclined his head. "Dismissed."

She whirled around on autopilot and marched out of the room, but her mind was running faster than the speed of light.

* * *

Luke felt his concern mount and mount the longer Leia kept talking.

" _Twin suns_?" he asked when she was finished. "Does he know about— about Tatooine?"

"I have no idea. I _really_ hope not."

"Big surprise there," he snorted. He shifted on the sofa, accidentally knocking knees with his sister. "But do you have the datapad?"

Instead of answering, Leia just held it out to him.

He took it, and turned it on. The information scrolling across the top informed him that the contents of this pad included highly detailed blueprints of the layouts of several major Imperial facilities: their entrances and exits, their staff details, their role to be served in society—

"Kriff," Luke said.

"What is it?"

Wordlessly, he handed her the datapad.

Her eyes blew wide, and he knew why. If that sort of information got into Rebel hands. . . "Shouldn't this have an access code? Why did security not—"

"Visz disabled it, according to the slicers' debrief," Luke recalled from one of the reports he'd been sent. "That was how he got in. He had a code on the datachip as well. Apparently that was difficult to crack, it took them a while, but they did it."

Leia shrugged, and reached for a datareader, making sure to check there was nothing important on there—they didn't want any nasty surprises from a Rebel's chip. "Well, let's see what he had any interest in taking away with him, then."

They peered at the datareader's screen; after a moment, text began to scroll across it and the document was opened up.

"He didn't get much," Luke murmured.

She threw him a grin. "Yeah. Why didn't you wait until he had more info to catch him?"

"I was a bit concerned with the inherent security risk in letting him get _away_ with it, at the time," he grumbled. "But look at what we _do_ have. The architectural and engineering plans for the standard Star Destroyer, the _Executor_ —"

"Shouldn't the Rebels already have _both_ of those?"

"The Velts were working for Gerrera, not Amidala," Luke corrected. "Intel suggests there's very little amicable communication between those two anymore. But if you would let me _finish_. . ."

"Sorry, sorry." She smiled sweetly at him. "Read on."

He rolled his eyes. "The plans for the archives facility on Scarif, as well as the communications' facility; map of Skystrike Academy; and. . ." He frowned, then glanced up, concerned. "The blueprints to the central power distribution grid on Coruscant."

Leia met his gaze. "And?"

"If the Rebels managed to stage an attack on _that_. . . The whole planet could go down."

"The Palace has a separate system, against such threats," she reminded him.

"The Palace won't be worth anything if they take the rest of the planet," he shot back. "What if they seized control everywhere but here? Even if the Palace defences somehow never failed _once_ in all that time, they could lay siege to the building and we'd never hold out for more than a year at most."

"You think they'd do that?" she asked him, but she seemed. . . distracted. . . suddenly.

He frowned. "You think they _wouldn't_?"

Leia swallowed.

* * *

"I've been doing some research on Padmé Amidala," she admitted, "and from what I've seen, she isn't one to claim that the ends justify the means."

"And?" Luke shrugged. "That's _Padmé_ Amidala, our _mother_. Amidala is just someone using her good name to gain support—you only have one theory to prove otherwise."

"You don't believe that."

He let out a breath, and she knew she'd got him. "No," he admitted, "I don't. But there's no logic to it, it's—"

"A feeling?"

His lips twisted. "A shadow of a feeling, more like. A mirage."

"That's enough for me." She leaned forwards. "Padmé Amidala _is_ Amidala, who _is_ our mother. And she _does not_ seem like a warmonger."

"That was twenty years ago."

" _Think about it_ ," she pressed. If Luke didn't believe her, she knew, no one would. "When has she ever committed an act of unforgivable, _intentional_ violence?"

Luke stared at her. "Have you forgotten Kuat?"

" _That was Saw Gerrera._ You said so yourself— _and_ you said yourself that they're not working together anymore. Now," she said, pointing her finger at his chest, "name me _one_ incident of extreme violence in the last fifteen years that can _only_ be placed on her shoulders."

He still looked unconvinced. "There's quite a few."

"Then name them."

He sighed, but began, "Onderon—"

"She was still working with Gerrera. That was _literally his home planet_ , he just called for assistance and her cell showed up." It was the first time they'd heard her name, a little over five years ago now.

"Sullust—"

"We had a blockade around the planet and they were trying to get through it to deliver supplies to the Sullustans."

"Because they were _traitors_! They'd helped the Rebellion, and the massacre there meant Father was temporarily _demoted_ , remember?"

" _Temporarily_ ," she snapped. "And then there's Tureen VII—"

"That was exactly the same!"

"Which is my point! The Rebels were there to _save_ lives, not _end_ them! It's the Partisans that end them." There was a beat, then Leia dredged up from within herself the gall to say, "And the Empire, too."

Luke's confusion had turned to horror, now. "You're sounding like a Rebel sympathiser," he whispered. "Are you taking _their_ side? After everything—"

" _Everything_ is subjective. That was this entire argument. What have they even _done_ that's so horrible? Dared defy the omnipotent Palpatine? Isn't that what we're doing?" He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Before he could find what he wanted to say, she rushed on, "I'm not taking anyone's _side_ , Luke. I'm just looking at the facts—and the hypocrisy. Is rebelling suddenly alright when we're the ones doing it?"

She _knew_ he understood that, _knew_ he believed her, but she knew just as intrinsically that he didn't _want_ to believe her. "Father—"

"Is a lying load of shavit. We've established this—"

" _Don't_ talk about him like that."

"What? Like he's a flawed human being who's acted like an _idiot_ and betrayed our trust?" she bit back. "He is, and he _has_. You know it too. You were furious at him—even now you don't believe what you're saying about him."

"I love him. He's our father."

"Love isn't morality."

"Then what is?" Luke argued. "He's a _great man_."

"Do you think Amidala is a great woman?"

Her unexpected question caught him off-guard. He just frowned faintly, struck dumb.

"Because," she pressed, "if you compare the statistics for who's killed more people—"

"Don't." Luke stood up abruptly, half turning away from her. She opened her mouth to push further, but then a word slipped through his shields, screaming loud enough to sear a trail through her mind.

_Executioner_.

She decided, out of respect for her brother and his emotional stability, not to ask.

Instead, her tone softened. "Do you think _I_ liked this? I gave my _life_ to Palpatine: my trust, my ambitions, my _servitude and power_." She said the word with disgust. "And then Father tells me he stuck a transmitter in his suit and was complicit in the theft of my memories, to make me more compliant." Her lip curled. "My mentor failed me, and your idolised mentor has failed you as well—you just don't want to see it."

"Of _course_ I see it, Leia," Luke ground out. He was still facing away from her, his hands folded behind his back with neat military precision, his back tense. "Forgive me if I'd like to purge last night from my memory."

He turned his head to look her in the eye. "But this wasn't just brought on by last night, was it?"

She rose to her feet, and to the challenge. "I told you. I've been researching Padmé Amidala, and I've come to some conclusions."

"Which are?"

She hesitated. She couldn't say she even knew herself.

". . .the Empire is flawed," she said finally—and weakly. If _Rebels_ were being less brutal than them, then—

Luke scoffed. She wondered if he heard what she really meant in the words, even though she didn't know herself. It wouldn't be the first time.

"And what, exactly"—he paused halfway, eyes widening, as if it suddenly hit him exactly what he might hear if she answered the way he no doubt expected her to—"are you planning to do about it?"

She opened her mouth and took a step forward—

Only for the comm on the table in the corner to chime.

There was only one person who would contact them on _that_ comm—only one person who preferred to have his image projected in massive before the recipients, despising the small handheld comms they carried—so the machine instantly patched him through. Luke and Leia barely had a second to get down on their knees before the Emperor's glorious visage hung in midair in front of them.

"Master," Leia greeted, trying to hide her shock and irritation behind clenched teeth, "what is thy bidding?" The greeting had always seemed a little archaic in her eyes, but Palpatine seemed to like it—

Palpatine barely cast her a glance. Despite her newfound bottomless chasm of hatred for him, the dismissal still stung. "Nothing of any concern to you, child. If it had been, I would have informed you when we were speaking just over an hour ago, wouldn't I?"

Leia recognised the rhetorical question for what it was, and didn't respond.

"Luke," Palpatine said, turning his eyes on him. Leia tensed at the brutal appraising regard he treated her brother with; it felt like he was both revelling in the power he controlled and threatening to undermine it simultaneously. "I trust you and your sister have read the datapad I gave her?"

Luke's head, if possible, bowed lower. "Yes, Master."

"Then you know the Rebels have shown an interest in Skystrike Academy."

Luke was trembling slightly, Leia realised. It pushed all the air out of her lungs and sent a heady mix of anger and shame boiling in her stomach. She hadn't realised her brother was that affected by what she'd said.

But his voice betrayed none of that. "We do, Master."

"Good. The ISB have received word from an operative that there are cadets at the Academy looking to defect— _and_ that the Rebellion will be sending in agents to get them out. The ISB will launch their own investigation and send uniformed officers to root out the traitors, but it is my belief that a more. . . subtle. . . approach is needed."

Neither Luke nor Leia said anything. They both knew Palpatine would divulge whatever he wanted Luke to do when he was good and ready.

After a moment of silence, he did.

"You are one of the only human Imperial operatives of the correct age to be a cadet." Leia didn't miss the implication in _one of_ —there were others, and they were not necessarily indispensible to him. She understood that now. "I want you to attend the Academy and find the traitors from the inside." He tilted his head, glancing at Leia then for the first time in a while—almost like he could feel her disquiet.

Luke? Go to _Skystrike_? That was parsecs away. Naboo and Tatooine had been bad enough; she didn't want to go through that again. She turned to her brother, willing him to refuse, or even _haggle_ —

"Very well," Luke said. His fists clenched at his sides. "I'll go."

The Emperor smiled, and shot Leia a second look in as many minutes. "Good," he said. "Further details will be sent to you later today."

The holo winked out.

Leia whirled on Luke and spat, "You know, you can avoid me _without_ fleeing to the other side of the galaxy."

"I'm not _avoiding_ you."

"No. You just agreed to his request unthinkingly because you wanted to escape what I had to say—"

" _Leia_ ," he said.

She shut up.

"Just. . ." He swallowed, heaving himself up to sit on the sofa again. "I need to think about. . . everything, alright?"

She looked at her brother, at his earnest blue eyes, his pained expression. His hands were clasped together in front of him, his shoulders bowed over.

She sighed. "Alright."

He gave her a watery smile.

"I'll continue with the investigation here," she went on. "See if I can figure out what 'eclipse' means. But when you get back, we're having an in-depth heart-to-heart about all of this."

He raised his eyebrows. "I can't wait."

She smacked him on the shoulder.

* * *

Luke left early the next morning, in a non-Imperial shuttle due to take him to Corellia, where he'd get on the standard Imperial shuttle meant to take him and the other new cadets to Skystrike.

As the shuttle lifted off, he watched Leia out the viewport, and tried to crush the guilt at how relieved he felt.

He had a lot to think about.


	13. Practicality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have mentioned this before, but if not, I want to make it clear that the timeline in this story will not 100% match that of canon. I'll try to make it as close as possible, but for the sake of the story some events won't be touched upon and some events will be reshuffled so they serve the narrative better. It's not massively relevant in this chapter in particular, but this chapter _is_ the beginning of when the plotline of Rebels starts to feed directly into the main story more, so I thought it was a good time to mention it.

Luke shifted in his spot next to all the other new pilots heading to Skystrike, staring out the window as they approached the station. The system's twin suns appeared a pale blue from space but loomed bright orange through the atmosphere. They reminded him that Tatooine had had twin suns, too. He remembered.

He remember—vaguely—always going out to watch them set. His uncle would go with him, because it wasn't safe for a little boy to be out in the sands alone, and he'd sit on Owen's lap as they sank closer to the horizon, Tatooine's temperatures dropping from uncomfortably hot to uncomfortably cold in the span of a few heartbeats.

Sometimes, Luke remembered, Uncle Owen had told him stories about his grandmother while they watched. He would have to ask his father how many of them had been true.

The shuttle landed, and there was the hiss of the landing ramp descending. Luke and the other cadets rose to their feet carefully, throwing glances at the officer escorting them, then made to march out in a single line when he waved his hand.

Luke let his mind wander as they waited in line for the black astromech next to the flight officer to verify each person's credentials. The Force. . . shimmered here, and he made him uneasy; he tried to peer into the future, see if he could work out the source of the disturbance, but he found nothing. Something was coming, though—something _important_. Important for the galaxy. . . and for him.

_What_ it was, he couldn't tell. But he could tell that much.

The astromech beeped its high-pitched affirmative, and the queue moved forwards.

It continued like that for a while, enough that Luke almost relaxed. This wasn't the first infiltration mission he'd been on; sure, it was his first without Leia, but he could do it, and he would do it well—

The astromech booped a low-pitched negative, and the cadet directly in front of Luke stiffened slightly.

Luke frowned behind his TIE pilot's helmet; strange, he sensed a surge of unusually strong fear from her. . .

"There seems to be a problem with your credentials, cadet," the deck officer said. "Security!"

"Wait!" The cadet held out her hands, her voice panicked. "That— um, that happens from. . . time to time—can I see it?"

Luke's eyes narrowed, and so did the deck officer's, but he handed over the card.

"Yeah, these new ID cards can be temperamental," she said almost conversationally, reaching up to lift her helmet from her head. Luke could tell the deck officer and troopers standing on either side of him were just _itching_ to snap about regulations, but they were tired, and this was taking too long as it was.

The cadet lifted her ID card up to her mouth and _blew_ on it, hard. Luke was just as baffled as the officer for a moment—then she tilted her head to the side so she could rub the card against the shoulder of her uniform, and Luke caught sight of her face.

He wouldn't have recognised her, if he wasn't already half-expecting it.

Their intelligence suggested the cell which would try to get the traitors out was the cell for the Lothal sector, containing Phoenix Squadron and—most pertinently—the _Ghost_ crew. Luke had familiarised himself with all their faces on the trip to Corellia; he recognised her within two heartbeats.

Sabine Wren. Mandalorian, nineteen years old, and an ex-Imperial cadet and weapons specialist for the Rebellion.

_This_ was who would be mounting the rescue mission.

Luke fought to keep his face blank, for all that it was hidden by the mask. It helped keep his thoughts in check as well, though they still whirled at the speed of light.

He briefly considered calling her out there and then, getting her arrested on the spot; the capture of Sabine Wren would demoralise the Spectres and be a significant blow to the Rebellion. But common sense caught up to him just as quickly.

If he did that, called her out here, whatever Rebel sympathisers were here would go to ground. In particular, he'd never gain their trust soon enough to find out how many there were. The same principle applied to the possibility of reporting her later, in the shelter of anonymity: he still needed her to draw them out for him. _Especially_ if the ISB were coming to openly investigate while he was here. It would certainly be faster and less complicated than trying to pretend he was a Rebel sympathiser himself; at least coming from her, it would be genuine.

So he'd keep quiet for now. Bide his time. At least when the ISB arrived, Governor Pryce was aware of his placement and would listen to whatever information he had to give her.

Wren handed back her ID card. This time, when the droid received it, it was an affirmative.

The officer handed it back to her. "Proceed."

"Thank you, sir."

Even as he stepped up to hand over his credentials, Luke watched her retreating back.

He still couldn't shake the sense that everything was going to go horribly, horribly wrong.

Or, worse—everything was going to go _right_.

* * *

With Luke gone, Leia was left to investigate on her own. Palpatine had scheduled some sort of briefing with her and her father that afternoon, but she woke up to the dawn light crystallising on her eyelashes, and was too restless to remain in the apartment all day.

So she made up something to do.

The central power grid had been one of the places listed on the datachip, she remembered—it had been Luke's biggest concern. She understood his fears, but military matters weren't her forte; they hadn't been what she was concerned about herself at the time.

Now, though. . . she needed something to do, and that seemed as good a place as any to start.

It was refreshing, taking her speeder out of the small area of Coruscant that their apartment and the Palace were located in. That was where the Senate convened, that was where most of her work was done, that was where she departed from when she needed to get off-world; it was familiar, but repetitive. Walking through the lower levels of Coruscant was a different story—and was often a better way to engage with what the populace actually thought.

She parked the speeder along one of the walkways a little way from the entrance to the maintenance centre and strolled along. Casting her mind out like a net and reeling in the vague sense of people's thoughts and feelings had always worked for her before, and it worked now: it was slow, vague, but there was a deep-seated disgruntlement, desperation. . . dissatisfaction.

Fear. All-encompassing, all-permeating, all- _powerful_.

And most of it seemed to be directed at the Imperial Palace, visible from a large area of Coruscant, shining like a gem levels and levels above.

Oh, not consciously; a lot of it seemed to be just people's general discontentment with life, and resenting the people who _were_ content with it—the sort of people who lived atop those gem-like skyscrapers. But there was, in the adults an awareness that their suffering was the Empire's fault. In one way, or another.

For one brief moment of weakness, she thought about Tsabin, and the comm frequency she'd been given. . .

Leia frowned, and tried to look at this tactfully. _Tactically_ , it would be easier to assert control as Empress once their coup happened if these people had some sort of loyalty to the Empire—and, if _loyalty_ and _Empire_ were too much of a stretch, some sort of awareness that supporting her could lead to rewards.

Perhaps she and Luke should look into running some sort of charity scheme; that might do the job.

She shook the thoughts away. That was for after, when she had the galaxy at her feet. She could do whatever she wanted, change whatever she saw fit, when that happened.

The thought nearly made her stop in her tracks. She hissed out a breath.

She could be Empress before the year was out.

She'd been peripherally aware of the possibility her whole life— _well_ , some snide part of her reminded her, _what you thought was your whole life_ —but it had never seemed real. Palpatine, decrepit as he was, had always had a vitality that it clear that he was _not_ leaving anytime soon. She could train up to it. . . there'd always been _time_ before, someone to measure herself against and keep her in check when her ideas got the better of her. . .

And soon that someone might be gone.

Soon, she'd have no master but herself.

She wasn't sure if the feeling in her chest was ambition or fear. She _was_ afraid—the idea of ruling _an entire galaxy_ was _terrifying_ —but there was a small thrill that accompanied it. She couldn't help but revel in the idea of _her_ sitting on that throne, _her_ sitting under that ceiling of stars, _her_ making the calls and changing Palpatine's short-sighted, self-serving policies, ending the war with the Rebellion through treaties _or_ force _or_ the Force, _changing the galaxy for the better_ —

And maybe even reducing the fear along the way.

Leia wasn't stupid. She knew Palpatine _enjoyed_ that fear. He and her father drew off of it, became stronger through it. She herself did so during battle, or when she was doing her job. The investigation with Kuat had been rife with it, and she'd _used_ that; it had sharpened her senses, given her clarity, helped her pick apart inconsistencies and irregularities that she wouldn't have noticed otherwise.

If a few people had died because she was. . . overly harsh, while in that state, then so be it. It was a means to an end.

But swamping your entire populace with that sort of fear? Was that _practical_? How were they supposed to develop any sort of patriotism or loyalty if they were constantly kept in poverty to reduce the threat?

And hadn't Luke and Leia been raised in that same poverty, for several years?

The memories Vader had returned to them were fuzzy, as any six-year-old child's no doubt were, but she could remember that. Tatooine was not a rich planet, and moisture farmers were not rich people; had events been _ever so slightly_ different, they'd be in a very different situation right now.

And if they hadn't had the Force, like these people didn't?

Her father would say that it was the will of the Force that they had this power; they were given it to _use_ it. And she would. But either her having the Force was pure biological happenstance from being the daughter of one of the most powerful Force users to ever live, _or_ the Force had actively decided to bring her into existence, as it decided to do all things. And hadn't it also brought these people into existence as well?

Either way, her point remained: it could just as easily be her and her brother in that situation. It _had_ been, for some time.

So Leia wanted to change it. And this coup could and would grant her the power to do so.

"Halt!"

She'd arrived at the central power grid.

The three stormtroopers standing in the entrance levelled their blasters on her, set to stun. Understandable: she hadn't called in her impromptu inspection, and her visage was nowhere near as iconic as her father's death mask. For practical reasons, of course, but still. There was no reason these troopers should know who she was.

"Let us see your authorisation."

That didn't stop her from raising her eyebrows, almost amused at the self-importance in his tone. In truth, she was already plotting how she would make it through this corridor to sabotage the main reactor if she was a Rebel, and one thing was perfectly clear: this place needed _much_ better security.

Three pompous stormtroopers weren't gonna hold back an army of fanatical insurgents.

She lifted her hands very slowly and reached for her pocket holding her authorisation. She _felt_ the immediate tension in the troopers' minds when they spotted the lightsaber now prominent at her hip, then she was switching on the holo and a pale blue rectangle materialised in the air before them.

They blanched at her level of clearance. They almost tripped over themselves to get out of the way.

"Ah—sorry, ma'am," one of them said. _Not_ the original speaker; he seemed to have been struck dumb. "If I may presume to ask, what were you planning on doing here? I can escort you if—"

"That would be useful, Captain," she said coldly, plucking his rank out of his mind—his hoisted blaster blocked his rank plaque. He blanched again. "Especially seeing as I'm here to examine the effectiveness of the security here."

She strode forward, already done with this conversation.

"Of course, ma'am." He hurried to keep up. "If I may show you, the control room is this way—"

* * *

Luke may not _like_ being forced to wake up before 0600, but he wasn't unused to it. Nor were any of the other cadets, clearly; everyone was fully awake within moments of the bell, already bustling to get ready.

They were in the simulator room on the dot. Luke was near the middle of the line as they stood to attention, and Commandant Goran stalked up and down it, inspecting them for some trait Luke didn't know. Goran barely flinched when he looked over him; Luke assumed he wasn't in the small circle of people who knew which cadet was the spy, or even that there _was_ a spy at all.

"Ria Talla," Goran snapped eventually. Wren jerked—that must be her alias. "Darred Antares." That was Luke's. "You're up first. Enter the pods; Captain Skerris will fly as your opponent."

Both of them had their helmets on, but Luke exchanged a brief glance with Wren before climbing the steps into the pods.

He couldn't stop the sigh of relief as he dropped into the pilot's seat. It had been too long since he'd been in the cockpit of a starfighter; while he wasn't actually flying through space or atmosphere like he'd been itching to do for ages, at least he could enjoy this part of the mission.

Especially if they _actually_ got to fly at some point. . .

He watched the screen in front of him light up with a vista of outer space, and let himself be distracted for a moment by the stars he could see, blue and purple and yellow against the blackness—

The comm system let out a squawk. _"This is TIE SS-36, on patrol at point 149, awaiting wingman."_

"Copy that, Three-Six," Luke replied, taking hold of the controls. He wasn't just letting himself drift anymore; he looked at the patrol he'd been ordered to take, and shifted on course with it. "This is TIE SS-23, approaching."

Their orders came through a moment later: _"Comm/scan is tracking Rebel ships entering sector two. Move to intercept."_

"Acknowledged." Then, because he had to build a rapport with the Rebel sympathisers anyway, and it wouldn't hurt to build one with her— "Let's go, Three-Six."

He knew it had worked—at least in part—when she said, _"Right behind you, Two-Three."_

They moved forwards for several minutes, and Luke—despite knowing it wasn't real—felt his nerves ratchet. Space was eerily quiet despite the buzz of the comms, and while he knew it was because sound didn't travel in space _anyway_ , that didn't mean it didn't put him on edge.

"You see anything, Three Six?"

_"Hmm, nothing yet,"_ came the reply. _"Wait—four ships coming in at point eight four seven."_

"Agh, I see them." Luke wrinkled his nose, despite himself. "Y-wings." _Heavy shields, turret guns_ ; he listed off their assets in his head, but didn't say them aloud. _Sabine Wren_ , of all people, should already know them. "Command, how should we proceed?"

_"Eliminate all targets."_

They did.

Ecstatic to finally get to fly something fast, Luke shot off. He made sure to keep an eye on Wren, to be a _good_ wingman, but he ripped into those Y-wings with a fierce abandon, and took pleasure in the orange and yellow explosions that fogged his screen. Wren was a decent pilot herself, she took down quite a few of her own, but he heard slightly nervous laughter over the comm.

_"Wow, you're amazing, Two-Three!"_ A part of her voice sounded unenthusiastic, more dreading—imagine having to pit Phoenix Squadron against him?

He knew his father had personally attacked the _Ghost_ and Phoenix Squadron once, and nearly annihilated them all. He wondered if that was what she thinking of, now.

He hummed his wordless response as another Y-wing exploded, then said, "Good kill, Three-Six."

_"One more and we're even, Two-Three."_ The joking tone was back.

"Not quite."

The last Y-wing exploded into fire and dust, and the crackle of the commandant's voice came over the comms. _"Three-Six and Two-Three, proceed to the transmitted coordinates and destroy the Rebel vessel located there."_

"Yes, sir."

They turned their TIE fighters as one to head to the coordinates that appeared on his display, and Luke frowned as they approached a vessel there. It was a transport, quite large, and smoke was billowing from some of the spots where it'd been hit.

_"Hmm,"_ Wren said, _"no power readings. . . It's disabled."_

Another comm chimed in then, a recorded message in the simulator but clearly one meant to be taken as the actual truth for this circumstance: _"We surrender! Please, do not fire. We surrender! We are heavily damaged and have wounded aboard. Repeat:_ We surrender _!"_

Luke nodded. Alright—he knew how Imperial protocol went, they just had to keep it there, shoot if it made any last ditch attempts at escape, and wait for a boarding party—

_"Destroy the vessel as ordered."_

Luke frowned, cutting off even Wren's objections as he said, "But Imperial protocol states that—"

_"Destroy the vessel as ordered, Two-Three!"_

Luke swallowed. "Yes, sir."

_"Is breaking protocol part of the test?"_ he heard Wren mutter. Despite himself, he winced; for a Rebel infiltrator, she was _not_ being subtle.

_"What was that, Three-Six?"_ There was a warning in the commandant's tone.

"Uh, comm malfunction, sir," Luke cut in before she could argue back and blow his _entire_ mission with her petty squabble. "Destroying the vessel now—"

_"Hold on, new target coming in on point one seven."_

Point one seven. . .? Luke tilted his head and his eyes blew wide at the ship barrelling straight for them. He knew that shape: the hexagonal design, the turrets; he'd never seen it in person, but he'd read _plenty_ of reports—

_"Look out!"_

Wren's warning came too late; he'd hesitated too long. The simulated _Ghost_ swept in and blasted both their ships to pieces.

The screen went dark. Luke scowled and slumped back in the seat, furious with himself—he should have seen that coming!—but more furious with the commandant for distracting him.

_"Simulation complete. Cadets, exit your pods."_

The pod turned around him, and he made to climb out, walking down the metal steps propped outside it, slowly and methodically.

He'd just removed his helmet when he heard, "What kind of Rebel ship was that? That was _no_ transport?"

He almost snorted—she knew better than anyone what sort of Rebel ship that was—but they were interrupted by the hiss of the third pod opening, and the rhythmic _thump_ of their opponent descending the steps.

"Ah, but you are wrong, cadet," Skerris said. "That _was_ a transport called the _Ghost_ , which has been modified for combat."

Luke flicked his gaze back to Wren, who lifted her chin slightly.

"The Rebels are a desperate group of extremists," Skerris continued, removing his helmet to narrow his eyes at her. "They'll fight with any ship, using any means necessary to undermine our authority. _That_ is why orders must be followed without question. Insubordination like _yours_ ," he treated Luke to a withering glance at that, as well, "will get you and your wingman _killed_."

Luke didn't necessarily _disagree_.

He knew that orders had to be followed. His father, as much as he'd lied about other things, had taught him that: sometimes if one cog broke or did something wrong, the whole machine ground to a halt.

But that was why the Imperial protocol existed.

There were too many corrupt and incompetent officers in the military. They got there through power and family connections, were only there for power, and they never knew what they were doing. But things still moved more or less smoothly, so long as they had unimportant jobs and followed protocol.

When they gave orders that conflicted with protocol, tragedies happened. When the soldiers under them _questioned_ those orders, sometimes, tragedies were averted. He'd seen it.

If you were going to break the protocol you'd drilled into them from day one, you'd better have a good reason for it. You'd better be expecting questions, if you respected your troops in any way, or wanted them to respect you.

Perhaps they didn't.

Perhaps that was the problem.

But if they had fired on that vessel and destroyed it before a boarding party arrived, what information could they hope to glean? They were fighting to _end_ a war, not prolong it. Killing enemies who begged for mercy should be a last resort, modified transports or no modified transports.

_And yet_ , he had to think, _this Empire seems awfully fond of it._

Skerris looked him in the eye. "Understood?"

Luke lowered his gaze, but inside he was burning. "Yes, sir." _Understood, but not_ agreed _._

Wren said nothing.

" _Understood_ , cadet?"

She lifted her chin further, and looked him dead in the eye. Challenge and belligerence was in every syllable as she ground out, "Yes. Sir."

Skerris nodded once, then he, Goran and the other instructors turned to invite the next pairing up to the pods.

"Wedge Antilles, Biggs Darklighter."

Luke tried not to raise his eyebrows at that last name—wasn't that the person Leia said she'd spoken to on Tatooine?—and watched the two dark-haired men climb the steps in their place.

Wren made to turn away, but he murmured, "I see you don't just take risks when you're flying."

"Well I trust my gut," she bit out, _quietly_. Everyone else was focused on Antilles and Darklighter's run, but it was best to be careful. "And I know right from wrong."

"I respect that." He was surprised to find it was true—he may disagree with most of her and her Rebellion's 'morals', but _this_ one they concurred on.

"But," he added, watching Antilles and Darklighter destroy the Rebel vessel when first ordered, their nervousness and reluctance stark in the Force, "I get the feeling a lot of people here _won't_."


	14. Decision and Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not quite satisfied with Leia's first two scenes in this chapter, but I can't tell what the problem is. I think they feel a bit heavy-handed? Please let me know if you can work out what's wrong.

Inspecting the power grid's security was a short—and fairly depressing—affair. Leia was back at the Imperial Palace with plenty of time to spare, and spent a good few hours planning how she was going to improve the travesty that was security before heading to that oh-so-important meeting Palpatine had scheduled.

He was probably just going to cancel it just after they arrived, she grumbled to herself, citing _important business he needed to get along with_. It wouldn't be the first time, and it had never bothered Leia before—she'd figured there must be a good reason for it—but she no longer subscribed to that naive faith in him. Now she saw it for what it was: a blatant show of control over their time, and a just as blatant disrespect for it.

He enjoyed showing them how much power he had over the littlest things.

This time, though, he didn't cancel. Nor were Leia and Vader the only ones there: a good collection of Moffs and Governors surrounded the table, whether in the flesh or via holograms. She took her place in the conference two seats from Palpatine's right, her father in between them. At least, he was _supposed_ to be between them. He always preferred to stand.

Tarkin sat on Palpatine's left; it was he who started the meeting off.

"My friends," he said, granting a nod to some of the more high-ranking governors but pointedly ignoring Leia's presence. Her blood boiled with the urge to snap his neck; he was always dismissive of her and Luke, always considered them beneath them, even after they'd saved his sorry backside for the umpteenth time. "I trust you have all been debriefed about the near-massacre that was the Kuat Uprising?"

Leia raised her eyebrows. No one had told her what this meeting would be about, and she'd confess to slight surprise at this topic.

"Thanks to Miss Leia and her brother, the situation was pacified." He _did_ nod at her then, but she knew it was mocking.

The man wasn't stupid: he knew where the power lay, and where the power would soon shift to. But he was too arrogant to accept it. He saw her father as a simple attack dog; she wasn't much better.

"It has now been long enough that the intelligence officers working on the case have deemed anymore information they could glean from it would be outdated, and it's declared closed. The Empire will now release an official statement on it."

Leia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. So _this_ was what it was about. Palpatine couldn't have just sent her a report with everything she was supposed to say to the press, or. . .?

Palpatine caught her eye, and she quickly averted her gaze, stacking up her shields again. She knew her politician's face remained flawless despite her grumbling; either Palpatine knew her too well, or her shields had slipped.

She preferred to think the latter.

"This statement," Tarkin continued, "will inform the populace that Kuat was an accident. Governor Trite was inexperienced and incompetent, and when he hired incompetent workers they managed to cripple a good deal of the system. However, now he's been executed for his failure in serving our great Emperor," he inclined his head at Palpatine respectfully, "I have taken control of the Kuat system and surrounding area. I will immediately seek to set things right, and improve the output of our Empire's most productive facilities!"

" _You_?" Leia burst out amid the smattering of applause. She heard several gasps from newer, lower ranking governors around the table, but she didn't care. She was the future Empress: Palpatine would let her weigh into and speak out at these meetings, even if no one else may. How else was she to win their respect? "My brother and I installed Governor _Vilrein_ to oversee the improvements."

"And she did, for a time." Tarkin smiled thinly. "But it was felt that Vilrein, as a commander who had worked on Kuat before the disaster, might have too much of a closed view on what best to do for the system. I have been installed in her place."

"You're a military leader. Not a production manager."

"Precisely. Perhaps I can motivate the workers to serve their Empire the way Trite and Vilrein couldn't."

Leia gritted her teeth. That was the most illogical thing she'd ever heard.

But it wasn't that, or even the change in leadership, that bothered her. It was the fact that she hadn't been informed.

"You were off gallivanting on Naboo," Tarkin provided.

_I was stopping another revolt_ , she wanted to snap. _Which is more than I can say for you_.

But it wasn't Tarkin's lack of action in that, either. He'd done plenty of that before they'd come around, after all.

No.

It was the fact that this was being called an _accident_.

Calling minor Rebel attacks on minor outposts _accidents_ made sense; spreading panic over a minor problem seemed counterproductive.

But Kuat was the main production line for the Empire, and it had ground entirely to a halt. Luke and Leia had spent weeks, months, trawling through the station, killing Rebels and crushing uprisings. Their attack had been brutal, as had the other Rebel attacks from around the galaxy.

Calling it an _accident_ felt like an insult, both to her, who bathed her hands in blood to make things right, and to all the people who had died. Rebel and Imperial alike.

Saw Gerrera was a _threat_. They needed to know what his aims were.

"We don't want to terrorise the populace, after all."

Only, they _should_ be afraid.

Because Leia certainly was.

"These official reports will be disseminated all across the galaxy; each of you is in charge of doing so in your own sector. We need this event to blow over as soon as possible; we need people to see the Empire as _strong_."

There was more light applause as he took his seat again, and Leia clapped along unthinkingly. The Empire _did_ need to be _seen_ as strong, true. . . but the problem wasn't that it was _perceived_ to be weak. The problem wasn't that people _believed_ it had fallen prey to a terrorist attack.

The problem was that it _had_.

It _was_ weak.

And Leia needed to find a way to fix that.

* * *

A day after the farce in the simulators, Luke sensed the commotion when Governor Pryce and the ISB's shuttle landed, but he forced himself to pretend he didn't.

So. They'd decided he'd had enough time to uproot the defectors and be ready to report.

_Or_ , they figured he'd be more able to find them when the cadets got nervous enough to slip up.

They were right on the second count, at least. The moment Governor Pryce had stepped in front of the assembled cadets and announced her investigation for treason, he'd sensed sheer, unadulterated panic from two minds: Wedge Antilles and Rake Gahree.

So those were their defectors.

Wren did an admirable job of keeping herself composed, but Luke could sense she was worried too.

After Pryce stepped away, she met Luke's eye. It was a brief contact, barely noticeable, but it told him two things.

One: Pryce was one of the few involved in this who knew which cadet was the spy.

Two: She was now expecting him to do something about it himself.

Report the name he had _now_ , before they had any chance of escaping?

No. He wasn't sure that those were the only potential defectors here: they were the only ones who'd reacted, but there could be more, who were just naturally better at shielding somehow. Just naturally calmer. He had to lure those ones out, somehow.

And that meant getting close to either Antilles or Gahree.

He took his chance later that evening, after mess. Pryce had grounded them all for the duration of the investigation, much to his dismay, and he found himself walking towards the hangars in longing, wishing he could fly anyway.

It seemed he wasn't the only one.

Antilles was standing on one of the walkways overhead, leaning against the railing and staring at the hangar entrance with a slight frown, helmet tucked under his arm.

Luke paused, then wandered out onto the walkway to join him.

"Is something wrong?" he asked quietly, leaning against the railing next to him.

Antilles jerked. "Uh—no," he said, a little too quickly. "It's nothing."

Luke let it drop for now, resolving to work his way round to it. "You're Antilles, right? You were great in the simulators yesterday."

"Thanks." He sounded a bit sheepish, but a bit distracted, too. "So were you."

Luke said wryly, "I got shot down because I didn't fire on an unarmed transport. You're the one who actually followed orders."

"Yeah, well, I was just doing what I was supposed to."

"But. . . according to Imperial protocol, we're not to fire on unarmed transports. If I'd known. . ." He sighed, faking conflict. "Just. . . this isn't what I signed up for." He shook his head. "Never mind."

He saw Antilles shoot him a look in his peripheral vision, but his kept his gaze fixed pensively on the hangar floor. After a moment, Antilles looked down as well.

"This. . . isn't what I signed up for, either," he admitted.

"I want to do my part for the Empire," Luke added, "but. . ."

"It's not what you expected."

"Yeah."

"I was flying cargo ships when the Empire recruited me," Antilles went on. "At the time I figured, _why not?_ Seemed a whole lot more excited than hauling spare parts around the galaxy. But if this is what the Empire is becoming. . ."

_If this is what the Empire is becoming. . ._

Nowadays, Luke wasn't sure the Empire hadn't always been like this, but he understood Antilles's frustration. Luke had always thought that whatever blood the Empire shed, whatever unnecessary cruelty and corruption it had in it, it could be purged with time. Especially once Leia became Empress.

But if Antilles thought it was getting _worse_. . .

He didn't know.

_The Rebels were there to_ save _lives, not end them. The Partisans are the ones who end them._

_And the Empire, too._

They were at war. The bloodshed was necessary.

_Firing on unarmed opponents was not necessary._

Antilles was looking at him strangely. "Are you—"

"Are you boys alright?"

Luke nearly jumped out of his skin. He scolded him—stupid, stupid to let his guard down that much, so that _Sabine Wren_ , the person he was _supposed to be watching_ , could sneak up on him.

Antilles clammed up immediately. "Yes."

"Hey, Three-Six," Luke said jokingly, smiling at her slightly. It was one way of disguising how shaken he was.

"Just call me Ria," she said, returning the smile briefly, "and I can call you Darred." She looked at Antilles. "You're Wedge, right?"

He nodded, still looking distracted but starting to zone back in to the conversation. "Yeah."

Wren joined them in leaning against the railing. "So what were you talking about?"

"Nothing," Wedge said, very quickly. He wasn't very good at this.

Luke said, "She refused to fire as well, remember?" At Wedge's frown, then nod, he said to Wren, "We were just saying that we're not fans of. . . that."

Wren nodded. "I want to do my part for the Empire, but—"

"Firing on unarmed ships is not what you had in mind."

She smiled slightly. "Exactly."

There was a pregnant pause. Luke let his eyes drift around the hangar bay, ostensibly lost in thought, but he was paying close attention to the resolve he could sense building in Wren, building, until—

"Have you ever thought about getting out?"

There it was.

Wedge frowned. "That's. . . not really possible," he said, though anyone could hear the hope in his voice, "is it?"

"Maybe more possible than you realise."

"What are you talking about?"

Wren took a step closer and dropped her voice. "My real name is Sabine Wren. I was sent in to get you out."

Wedge's face practically lit up. Luke let his face show the same glee. "So the Rebellion _did_ get my message!"

"Yes, but I heard there were other pilots who want out, too."

"There are. Darred," Wedge gestured at Luke, who nodded his confirmation, "and I can find you the rest."

_There._

_That_ was what Luke had been waiting for. He just needed the names, and then—

And then he'd turn Wedge in.

He pushed the thought away as Wren said, "We need to leave _now_ , before the Empire closes in. Can you have them ready?"

"I'll talk to them," Wedge said, and despite himself, Luke was impressed that he kept the names secret until the very last moment. "What's your plan?"

"I'll. . ." Wren gave a small, self-deprecating snort. "I'll tell you when I figure that out."

Luke resisted the urge to roll his eyes and grin simultaneously.

They both looked at him. "Are you in?"

Luke nodded. "Absolutely."

They all exchanged nervous smiles, then Wren walked away. Wedge went in the other direction, until only Luke was left, staring at the stars just visible beyond the hangar entrance.

He'd been right to wait. And he'd wait a little longer, until he knew their plan and the identities of the other sympathisers. Then he'd hand them all over.

He swallowed at the idea.

Wedge had betrayed the Empire. He'd colluded with the Rebellion. He _had_ to turn him in.

But after that conversation. . . he didn't want to.

Wedge just wanted adventure, and he wanted it without innocent blood on his hands. So did Luke.

He was planning on defecting.

_For all you know,_ a voice parried, _so is Leia._

_Would you turn Leia in?_

Of course not. That was _Leia_. He—

Luke took a deep breath.

He'd hand them over. Those were his orders, and he was already in enough trouble with the Emperor as it was.

That didn't mean he had to _like_ _it_.

* * *

The moment she left the meeting, Leia sent a surreptitious comm to Governor Vilrein to confirm what Tarkin had said. She scowled fiercely when the woman responded in minutes—messages from the heir to the Empire were generally given higher priority, after all—with a confirmation of what had been said.

Tarkin had ousted the governor they'd installed, and it hadn't even caused enough of a ripple for them to hear about it.

_And_ he'd done it without Palpatine's blessing. Not that he _needed_ it, per se, nor would he be punished for not seeking it, but that wasn't what concerned Leia.

What concerned her was _that_ Tarkin hadn't needed it.

She hated Palpatine, but his utter and constant control over the Empire had always been a given, in her eyes. She'd presumed, whenever she saw something she disagreed with, that it could be traced back to Palpatine.

_Palpatine_ was the source of all evil.

She'd never paused to think about the governors.

Because, come to think of it, Palpatine just controlled the Imperial Court and Senate. He revelled in manipulating particular senators or courtiers to serve his ends, but that was all he did: manipulate. _That_ was what he enjoyed doing.

He didn't take much of a direct hand in ruling, simply because he didn't have to. He appointed governors he liked and when he told them to do something, they did it. Otherwise they did as they pleased.

Leia wondered how much the laws between sectors differed, simply because of the person who ruled them.

Palpatine had set up that system of corruption she'd observed in there, but it was the men and women within who maintained it. Come to think of it, there were very few governors she actually approved of, even discounting the effects of her father's intense dislike of politicians. Governor Vilrein—well, ex-governor now—had been one, if only because she was first and foremost an officer, rather than a politician. Moff Panaka had been another, but he'd been assassinated by Saw Gerrera the year before. And then there was Governor Pryce, who was ambitious, but canny and ruthless enough to back it up. But she was overseeing the ISB operation on Skystrike that Luke was a part of. And even then, Leia wasn't sure how long her impressive competence would last.

Leia leaned against the wall of the corridor, thankful that at least this one was deserted. She needed a moment to clear her head, and the standard Imperial greys and whites were soothing.

She rubbed her eyes. How much inter-sector politicking was there going on, which she had no idea of? How much control over it would she even have, once she became Empress?

She supposed that once she was Empress, she could put her foot down and monitor the situation more closely. _Force_ them to obey _her_ law, _her_ plans and ambitions, even more closely than Palpatine did, and that was the only way to rise to _theirs_.

But the constant grovelling of the Imperial Court got on her nerves as it was. And she had the feeling that there would always be Governor Tarkins in the galaxy, always be _someone_ too competent to dismiss but too wilful and underhanded for her liking. Every puppet she appointed would work out how to cut its strings eventually, and then she'd be dealing with _this_ , every day, for the rest of her life.

She supposed that was what being Empress meant.

Footsteps came down the hall, and she detected one of those deeply loathed presences now. She instinctively straightened up, fixing a faint sneer onto her face as she tilted back her chin to look Tarkin in the eye and said, "Governor."

He gave a thin-lipped smile in response. "Miss Leia." He didn't return her nod, and she gritted her teeth. She might be young—and she _was_ young, _Force_ , the idea that soon she might be ruling an entire galaxy was _terrifying_ —but that didn't mean it wasn't tactful for him to pay respect to his future Empress.

"I just wanted to express my admiration for your work on Kuat," he continued. "I have been assessing the damage that was repaired by your efforts, and I am very impressed. I do hope I get your work with you and your brother in the future; we may have a lot to teach each other."

She opened her mouth to instantly reject him. . . then closed it again.

As much as she hated the man's guts, she couldn't deny his competence—and his cunning. It would be good to see how he worked, so as to better understand how he _thought_.

He was Palpatine's favourite; Palpatine's _creature_. Once Palpatine was dead, she needed to know that that creature would not bite.

"It would be my pleasure," she lied—it wouldn't be a pleasure, but it _would_ be useful. "I shall talk to my brother about it."

He nodded, then made to move on. Leia glowered at his back the whole time.

Maybe the governors were a part of the problem as well. . . but maybe understanding a problem was the first step towards fixing it.

* * *

When Luke returned to his bunk, he found an encoded message waiting for him on his datapad, ordering him to report what he'd found.

He hesitated only momentarily before typing out his report. . . but he made a point to avoid giving names, or committing to an escape attempt plan, before he was _absolutely certain_.

At least, that was the excuse he gave Pryce, and who was she to question it?

* * *

Her frustration over the meeting—and just how _enlightening_ it had been on just how little she understood the Imperial Court—hadn't yet abated, so Leia took to the training room.

She could have returned home, she supposed, and trained there. But it was too quiet without Luke and her father's overwhelming presences, and there was technically a training room in the Imperial Palace, near to the rooms Palpatine tutored her in. The Inquisitors would sometimes come here as well, but it was primarily for Luke and Leia.

And the fact that the Inquisitors were entitled to come in here as well didn't stop her from trying to ram a lightsaber through the Sixth Sister when she entered the room all of a sudden, in the middle of a particularly complex manoeuvre Leia had been trying and failing to get right for a solid hour. Her frustration and mounting helplessness tore out of her with a scream; when she heard the doors hiss open, she turned and threw her lit lightsaber at the newcomer.

If it was her father or the Emperor, they could block it; if it was anyone else, she didn't care. They could get skewered for all it mattered.

The Sixth Sister saw it coming and barely deflected it in time, her lightsaber on her back and the manoeuvre to retrieve it too slow to execute. Instead, she seized the Force raggedly to push it aside not a moment too soon. . . but the blade carved a shallow furrow in her right palm nonetheless.

She hissed, her resentment mounting in the Force, but wisely didn't comment.

"What do you want?" Leia snapped.

The Sixth Sister lifted her chin. Her helmet was closed, so Leia couldn't see her face, but she imagined she was sneering.

"My apologies," she clipped out. "I was looking for your brother, and thought—"

"Why were you looking for him?" Leia didn't need an excuse—she knew that she and Luke felt similar through the Force, especially to someone as poorly trained as an Inquisitor—but she wanted an explanation.

"I needed to talk to him."

"About what?"

"Something he did for me before."

Leia frowned. _Something he did for me. . .?_ "What did he do?"

"Ask him."

"I'm asking _you_."

Leia had never treated the Sixth Sister nicely—neither had Luke, at least until he'd _done something for her_ , whatever that might be. It wasn't unusual for her to be so reticent in answering.

"And I'm telling you to ask him."

"I don't take orders from you."

The Sixth Sister clenched her fists. "And I don't take orders from you," she said quietly, " _my lady_."

She was right.

She took orders from the Emperor, and Vader. But not Leia.

Not yet, anyway.

Leia snapped, "Luke's away on a mission. Indefinitely."

"Thank you. Then I'll come back when he has."

With that, she turned around and left.

Leia was left staring after her, wondering what in the _galaxy_ that had been about.

* * *

The announcement crackled through the corridors, each pilot stopping in their tracks to listen. _"Squadron, report to hangar six."_

So, Luke thought, Pryce was lifting the order to keep all the pilots grounded. That either meant they'd found nothing, and were relying on him to hunt them down, or. . .

This was a trap.

He turned left into the corridor that took him directly to the hangars, and fell into step with Wren as they exchanged a loaded look. He could sense Wedge and three others approaching from behind, tense and nervous, but forced himself to react like he'd only just seen them when they finally came into earshot.

"Sabine!" Wedge hissed. Luke almost cringed. He could see why Wedge had gone into piloting, and not espionage. "Darred! This is Rake, Biggs and Hobbie." He gestured to the people he was with. Each looked more tense than the last.

Wren asked, some of the general tension bleeding into her voice as well, "Are you sure you're all committed to this?"

"We've made our choice," 'Hobbie'—Derek Klivian, Luke knew, born on Ralltiir, who'd ranked ninth on the overall leader board at the end of the training session yesterday—said.

Rake—Rake Gahree, who'd finished seventeenth yesterday—added darkly, "There's no turning back now."

And there wasn't, Luke thought grimly. It was clear to him now: they were committed. They were actually intending to go through with this, renounce the Empire and join a band of terrorists. They would help wreak havoc on the galaxy if he let them continue, tear down everything he'd given so much of himself to protect. This was all of them, he had all their names: he should turn them in now, and let the ISB do their job in protecting the galaxy from Rebel scum.

But he'd spent days with these people. Laughing, sharing food, flying. They were not _scum_. They were friends.

Now they were enemies.

Weren't they?

What did that make him?

Considering the sort of thoughts Leia had started to harbour, what did that make _her_?

Luke swallowed, and hoped the others thought it was from fear.

These people were joining an Alliance which they believed wouldn't force them to fire on unarmed ships. They were abandoning the Empire because of a few officers' heartlessness and the need to follow orders.

But they were _afraid_. He could see it in the way Wedge fidgeted, the curtness to Rake's movements, Biggs's tacit silence.

They were terrified, but they were doing this anyway. And for what? An unstoppable tide of morality? Conscience, coming after them time and time again, every time they heard the order to fire?

Every time they followed it?

Luke. . . couldn't fault them for that.

But he was going to condemn them to death for it.

_You must make sure your emotions don't work against you,_ his father's voice said into his mind. _You control them, use them to access the dark side. They cannot control you._

He snarled, surprisingly himself with his vehemence, and pushed his father's voice away.

Not _now_. He'd spent enough time hanging onto every word he said and enabling every evil act.

_Like this one?_

They came out onto the walkways the TIEs were stacked on.

Wedge was the one to break the uncomfortable silence with, "I'm surprised they're letting us go up in all this."

_So am I,_ Luke thought.

"Well, we have to make the most of this chance. We might not get another." Wren turned around, eyes narrowed. "Okay, listen. There's a rebel ship nearby, waiting for my signal."

The suns rose a little beyond the windows, bathing their faces in gold. Luke held up his hand to block it, while the others just squinted. It gave him a good opportunity to observe their facial expression.

"Watch me. When I go, you go."

This was _definitely_ a trap.

But Wren seemed so certain. He wasn't going to be the one to point out some of the glaring faults in her plans; he could tell from the others' expressions that they were sceptical enough as it was. And Pryce needed them as gullible as possible if the trap was to be sprung.

"But you _have_ to trust me," Wren stressed. It was obvious that she could sense their hesitation as well. "Agreed?"

There was a tense moment of silence. Then Hobbie burst out— "These Rebels you say are waiting for us. Do you trust _them_?"

Wren nodded, and said with more certainty than Luke had heard her say _anything_ , "With my life."

The others remained unconvinced.

But then the call to get to the fighters echoed through the hangar, and they were out of time to argue.

"Yeah," Rake muttered, lifted his helmet to his head, "and all of ours."

Luke walked towards and dropped into his fighter. The moment he was securely in place, his helmet on, he reached for his comlink.

Pryce's clipped, imitated-Core accent prompted, _"Well, agent?"_

"I have successfully uncovered all of the Rebel sympathisers," he reported. _This_ came easily to him: getting the words out clearly and concisely, all pertinent information condensed to a few moments of breath. "The Rebel infiltrator sent in to retrieve them plans to use this exercise to make their escape. A Rebel ship is nearby; when the infiltrator gives the signal, it will drop out of hyperspace and the Rebels will make for it."

_"You are certain that_ all _of the Rebel sympathisers have been routed? They will_ all _make for the Rebel ship?"_

"I am certain. If not, I can provide the names and identities of those who backed out."

_"Then good work, agent. Continue with your deception. Make for the Rebel ship yourself, or they may grow suspicious. I will order that Captain Skerris_ avoids _firing on the ship with your transponder."_

_How generous of you._ "Thank you, Governor." He took a hold of the controls and prepared to take off. "Over and out."

The signal came, and they all took off as one, like a flock of black birds in the amber atmosphere.

As always when he flew, Luke felt his stomach go out from underneath him in a rush, an unconscious smile creeping across his face. He remembered being fourteen, and hating the fact that his father wanted his destiny to be greater than that of a simple pilot. He'd resented it for a brief spell before deciding he was right, as always; flying could always be a hobby while he was serving the Empire in grander, more influential ways.

Now, in the midst of his tension and pent up anger, he wondered if this was just another thing his father had been wrong about.

The crackle of the comms broke him out of his ruminations. _"Squadrons, prepare to break formation and engage in a simulated dogfight. Your lasers have been nullified, but your hits will still register, and be scored."_

Luke's smile only grew as they broke atmosphere, the ochre curve of Montross arching away beneath them and the twin suns peeking their way over the edge. The blackness of space hung beyond: Luke found himself automatically searching for Mustafar's star, as he always did when he was missing home, then Coruscant's star. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he looked for Tatooine's. He couldn't find it.

He looked back at Coruscant's.

Somewhere, orbiting that tiny pinprick of light, was his sister.

His sister.

Who was harbouring Rebel sympathies. Who he was on the mission to avoid.

The flock of TIEs split into two groups, and Luke found himself on Wren's wing again, staring down the other traitors on the opposing team. He automatically sank into the Force to manoeuvre into position, sensing the thoughts and feelings of the pilots around him, glowing like individual stars in their own right—

_"Three, two, one, mark!"_

The two sides converged, green bolts lighting up the darkness. Luke sensed someone aiming at Wren and fulfilled his job as her wingman and fired twice at the perpetrator, until the TIE peeled off to escape the barrage. It was Wedge, he sensed after a moment's pursuit. It was Wedge, and he was providing a perfect target right now, his back to him and his wingman off doing. . . something else. He made to fire—

And missed.

He _made_ himself miss; yanked himself to the side very suddenly and fought to keep control.

He snarled.

This was a _simulated battle_. He shouldn't be experiencing this kind of. . . this kind of _panic_ , this _gravity_. This _wasn't real_.

But he _liked_ Wedge.

He was honest enough to admit it to himself. And for one moment, it felt like the man was already a Rebel. Like it was an X-wing on his scopes, and the bolts he fired would send it up in flames.

He had a horrible sense of déjà vu, and pushed it away.

He needed to _focus_.

If Wedge _did_ feel like a Rebel, that was because he was. He'd made his choice, and in a few minutes he would suffer the consequences. Luke could do nothing about it.

The uneasiness remained.

He spun his craft in a sharp dive to avoid a fighter coming from behind; Wren shot out of nowhere to blast it dead centre. The blast temporarily disabled the craft, but Luke figured a few moments later it would be back up and running.

_"You alright there, Two-Three?"_

"Just fine," he got out through gritted teeth, and plunged himself back into the fray. He was absolutely _fine_ —

The Force screamed a warning as the Rebel craft barrelled into realspace, materialising over the top of their heads in a moment. Luke could sense several people aboard: mainly human, and two presences that might well be the Jedi of Phoenix Squadron. . .

_"Come on, boys!"_ Wren called out over the comms, her voice audibly more relaxed now her allies were here. Luke wanted to cringe. _It's a trap, you—_

But all of the defectors peeled off to make for the transport. Wedge, Biggs, Hobbie, Rake. All of them.

No one had had second thoughts.

Luke let out a breath through his teeth and made to follow. He couldn't give the game away now—

Pryce's sharp, self-satisfied tones came over the comms. _"Cadets, return to base immediately. This is your only warning."_

_"Negative, command,"_ Wren shot right back. She sounded somewhere between giddy with relief and satisfied at the success. Luke cringed again. _"You're gonna have to come and get us."_

They kept going for the Rebel ship. A sense of foreboding was building in Luke's gut— _it's coming, it's coming, it's coming_ —but he kept going too, ignoring the sensation like a stone in his stomach, a noose around his neck—

He felt the panic before he heard the buzz. Suddenly an electric shock ran through his fighter, and it _shook_ , the craft suddenly unresponsive to his desperate yanks on the controls. He was drifting dead in space.

His fighter spun around slightly, enough so he could see the others', and he understood what had happened.

The TIEs' wings had disconnected. All systems were down—no, not all. Life support still worked. Comms still worked.

Which was why he could _hear_ Wren's sudden panic, as well as feel it. _"We've lost power! Our fighters were rigged!"_

_I'd never have guessed,_ Luke wanted to snap back, but kept quiet. He knew he was safe.

This justice was reserved for the enemies of the Empire. They _deserved_ this terror coursing through them, they'd earned it for their treason, and he _did not feel sorry for them at all_ —

_This is not justice._

He could sense Skerris and his wingmen converging on their position. He could hear Pryce's, _"Captain, destroy one of the pods."_

He could feel Rake's terror as he burned in space. The fireball vanished within moments, as though it had never been there at all.

_"Rake!"_ That was Wedge, naked anguish in his voice. _They deserve this._

Luke clenched his fists as he drifted further away from the planet. _They deserve this._

_They defied the Empire. They betrayed us. They would have flown into battle again and again against good Imperials risking their lives to protect the galaxy._

But Luke's useless platitudes meant nothing. He knew the truth.

_They just didn't want to fire on unarmed transports._


	15. Shatterpoint Three

Shortly after the Sixth Sister deigned to leave Leia alone, the door opened again. She spun on her heel, lit lightsaber whipping around with the motion, ready to throw again. . . then she saw who was in the doorway, and stopped just in time.

Her father just crossed his arms and gave her a look.

"What do you want?" she snapped, irritated—with him, with herself, with the entire blasted galaxy, she didn't know. It made her antsy.

It made her _especially_ antsy that she'd been so absorbed in her own emotions that she hadn't sensed the dark bonfire of her father's presence before he made himself known.

She was supposed to have better control than that.

Vader remained unimpressed by the anger. Of course he did: he probably had that much, and more to spare. "I could sense your frustration during the board meeting."

"Please, like you're never frustrated during them," she bit back. She knew, logically, that none of this—well, not all of this—was her father's fault, but she was angry and he was an available target. "At least _you_ can strangle someone without worrying about the political repercussions."

"You know that your brother does not like it when I 'strangle' people, as you so put it."

"He doesn't like it for minor things. When they're being annoying he understands completely."

"I concede the point." Vader uncrossed his arms. "But I sense an _unusual_ amount of frustration from you, and it has only increased since you left the meeting."

The worry was implicit in the words, evident only to one who knew to look, but it warmed her all the same, despite her lingering resentment towards him over. . . everything.

He was her father. She wanted to trust him.

So she let out a sharp sigh. "I assume you heard about Governor Vilrein and Tarkin."

"Indeed. Such political machinations are typical between the governors and other elite."

"We installed Vilrein because she was competent."

"And Tarkin deposed her because he was influential. This galaxy runs on power, not competence."

"And I hate it." Leia stared at the tip of her lightsaber. Her arm couldn't stop bouncing, restless as she was; she drew small red circles on the air. "How are we to get results if the people muscling their way into positions of power don't know what they're doing? What's the point of. . . _this_ ," she gestured around the room with her saber, the walls and floor marked with years and years of hardcore training, "if _Tarkin_ just waltzes in to take positions from someone more suited to it than him?"

"Governor Tarkin has his skills."

"Yeah, and they lie in mass slaughter and other brutal military tactics. He can crush revolution. He can't _build_ anything."

She waited for her father to disagree. He never did.

"The galaxy is corrupt," he said. Leia rolled her eyes—she did _not_ want to hear another _people are inherently greedy and selfish_ speech from him right now—but he surprised her. "There are corrupt people in power right now. Soon, you will be in a position of power yourself, and you will be able to change that."

The coup. His coup. Her father was always going on about his coup, how everything would be _better_ once they carried it out, but he hadn't shared _any_ details with them yet. Leia hadn't pressed, and nor had Luke—the incident after Tatooine had almost shattered his faith in their father entirely—but so far Vader was all talk and no action.

And that was _exactly_ what he always accused the politicians of being.

"Yeah, well." She felt very cold and alone, all of a sudden. She extinguished her lightsaber and hugged herself, glancing down. "I didn't feel very powerful in there."

Vader stepped forward and gently tilted her head up to meet his eyes.

"You _are_ powerful," he told her. "If those governors refuse to acknowledge it, that is their own foolishness. In a few short years, you will hold their lives in the palm of your hand, and they will regret not respecting you when they had the chance."

Leia didn't want to think that she might still care at that point—they were only petty politicians, after all, and barely worth her notice—but the part of her that was her father's daughter felt a vindictive pleasure at the thought. They'd feel her revenge for how they treated her—

"You could even dissolve the governors altogether, if you wanted, and replace them with something else. Erase all power they could possibly have had."

The words struck a chord in her. _Dissolve the governors._

_Replace them with something else._

"What would I replace them with?" she asked, then scoffed, "The Imperial Senate?" They both knew Palpatine's upcoming plans to be rid of it, and instead only _strengthen_ the governors' control.

Her father's voice was amused. "If you think that would work better. The bureaucracy and petty squabbling would certainly make it easier for you to get your own way every time, rather than haggling with men who consider themselves greater than they are."

She nodded, barely listening anymore. The idea. . . wasn't a bad one.

She filed it away for later reference. She had a great many things she wanted to change once she became Empress; dealing with the corrupt representatives was only one of many issues on the table.

_You'd better get on with that coup, then,_ she commented to her father mentally, taking a step back and watching his hand fall back to his side.

She turned around, drew her lightsaber again and went back to her exercises.

We _will get on with it as soon as your brother returns,_ her father said pointedly. She turned back around, her lightsaber poised over her head, to see him with his own saber drawn and pointed at her. _I have much I need to discuss with you._

She grinned, and assumed a ready stance herself. Her poor mood from earlier had all but evaporated.

_Bring it on._

* * *

The ship that scooped them out of dead space did not do so gently, or with any great care. Luke was picked up last, and treated to the sight of Wren, Biggs and Wedge all bound and kneeling in the hold, stormtroopers holding blasters to their heads.

The moment Luke himself emerged from the TIE, he was seized and given the same generous treatment. As the binders bit into his skin he familiarised himself with the workings of them, the mechanics of the lock, and pressed the Force against them like a trigger ready to be ignited at any moment. He didn't know whether or not these stormtroopers would try to hurt him, a perceived defector, and he needed to be careful.

They had orders to ensure none of them were harmed—Pryce, if no one else, knew who he was, and what the consequences could be if he was injured—but this wouldn't be the first time troopers disobeyed such orders. Especially if they felt personally slighted by it.

"On your knees!" a trooper barked, standing back to conveniently make a space for him right next to Biggs. He gritted his teeth, set his shoulders and knelt. He could sense Wedge, Biggs and Hobbie as a ball of nerves right next to him; Wren was just as apprehensive, but better at hiding it.

Luke tilted his head back to look right down the barrel of the blaster pointed at him. He wondered what the stormtrooper would think if he realised he was threatening Luke Skywalker, second in line to the Imperial throne, son of Darth Vader, future Commander of the Navy—

Nothing, probably.

The name _Luke Skywalker_ would mean nothing to him.

It certainly seemed to mean nothing to his father.

He lowered his head again.

"Darred?" Biggs hissed beside him. He got a blaster butt to the head for talking, but he persisted: "Darred, are you alright?"

Of course he wasn't alright—Biggs knew that. But apparently some of his emotions had leaked onto his face. He'd need to fix that.

Most of all, though, he realised that Biggs genuinely cared.

He hadn't spoken to the man much. Mainly Luke's plan had been to befriend Wedge, and root out the defectors through him. But he _had_ seen Biggs around the academy, smiled at him, joked with him. Biggs was just a decent person a few years older than Luke, who saw a seventeen-year-old afraid for his life, and had the nobility to push his own fear aside to comfort him.

And Luke was going to turn him in. Have him executed.

_He's a Rebel._

_He's a traitor._

The word meant less to him, now.

He could no longer separate _traitor_ from _family_.

The ship shuddered as they entered the atmosphere. After that it was just a short, inexorable stretch before they were touching down in the hangar, the landing ramp hissed and descended, and they were being forced to their feet.

Governor Pryce, Agent Kallus and Instructor Goran stood in a row outside, their sharp eyes watching the troopers frogmarch them down the ramp. Luke met Pryce's eye very briefly and gave the smallest of nods. She made no response, but he sensed that she'd seen it—and was beyond satisfied with the results of his work.

"Take them to individual cells and process them," she ordered, her spine straightening a little as she gave the order. He felt her pleasure at the thought of the coming interrogation, and his opinion of her dropped. "We shall find out which of you was the Rebel agent soon enough, and then I shall have _so_ many. . . _specific_. . . questions for that person."

Everyone pointedly tried not to look at Wren.

Pryce waved her hand. "Stun them all."

To further confuse them when they awoke in a cell, without the faintest clue where they were. Luke was familiar with the trick, and certainly didn't want it happening to him. He yanked on the Force and the binders fell open.

He didn't waste a moment: he rolled to the side and ducked. His companions slumped to the ground, unconscious, but his stun blast missed him; he wrenched the blaster out of the trooper's grip and turned, already prepared to duck if one of the others took a shot at him—

"Halt," Pryce ordered.

She took several steps forward, until she was standing right in front of him, and ran an assessing eye from his head to his toes.

"I must admit that you did well, agent. You are certain that those are all the Rebel sympathisers in this academy?"

Luke felt the shock of the troopers around them. It amused him—the _only_ thing about this situation that did—and so that was why he smiled when he said, "Yes."

"Which was the Rebel infiltrator?"

"Ria Talla. She's Sabine Wren, a member of Phoenix Squadron. One of the Rebels in your own sector, I believe?"

More shock at the fact he didn't address her as _governor_ , as well as the dig, but he ignored it. Pryce was still looking at him with something close to approval.

"Indeed. I will make a note to mention your skilled performance when I make my report," she said. Oh, now _she_ knew how to suck up to future powers in the Empire. Leia would be both reassured and disgusted by her. "I am sure your father is proud to have a son like you."

_I'm not ashamed of you._

_I'm incredibly, incredibly proud of you._

Luke frowned. Clearly not proud enough to trust them with the truth.

He didn't respond to Pryce's comment. He was sure his response had been noted, and analysed, but he didn't care. He just walked away before being dismissed, the third sign of disrespect in as many minutes that left the troopers reeling.

He went back to his dormitory at first. He needed to collect his things; he'd be leaving soon. His job here was done.

He packed up all his meagre belongings—he'd barely brought anything, just outfits in various shades of black to wear when he wasn't in his uniform—and lay on the bunk for a while, staring at the ceiling. He tried to let his mind wander, but everything in him seemed focused on three room, three _cells_ , a few floors below him.

Biggs was pacing his cell, his terror stark and multiplying. Hobbie was still unconscious. Wedge was marginally calmer, but that was because he seemed to be sitting or standing in one particular place, clamping down on his emotions with an iron fist.

Wren seemed to be fist-fighting Pryce— _how_ had the governor managed to get herself in _that_ situation?—and winning.

That wasn't what he kept cycling back to.

Wedge and Biggs—Force, Hobbie as well—were decent people. They just didn't want to fire on unarmed transports. Did he really think they deserved this?

Well, no. But orders were orders. And it wasn't like he could change it anyway.

He let out a sigh, then swung his legs off the bunk and stood up.

Perhaps he couldn't change it.

Perhaps.

But there was one thing he _definitely_ couldn't do, and that was stand by and watch.

* * *

Leia returned to the apartment by herself after her sparring match with Vader—he was busy. He was always busy.

And Luke was still away.

Idly, instinctively, she reached along that bond again. The emptiness hit her harder every time.

She needed someone to talk to. Her father's words and her problems with the governors had given her too much to think about; she needed to. . . _vent_. . . to someone willing to listen. She needed ideas for what to do.

What _could_ she replace the governors with?

She knew it was insane. She knew it was reckless.

The datachip holding Tsabin's contact information seemed to burn a hole in her pocket anyway.

* * *

The corridors blurred into each other, but Luke just walked quickly, back straight. He didn't have the TIE pilot's helmet most cadets carried throughout the halls, but if anyone noticed or objected to that, a slight nudge in the Force caused them to forget it a moment later.

The detention area was only lightly guarded—it wasn't like an academy had much use for cells, except in extreme cases—so after a moment's hesitation, Luke just mind-tricked his way past the few guards who _were_ there. He could sense Biggs, Wedge and Hobbie's cells ahead, as well as Wren and Pryce's ongoing fight a few doors down. Hobbie's was the first he arrived at.

He paused in front of the cell door. His finger hovered over the release.

What was he doing?

He hadn't even switched off or destroyed the holocams. They were monitoring his every move; if this got back to Palpatine, he'd either kill Luke for his disloyalty, or take him apart piece by piece and put him back together into something that was _Luke_ no longer.

He'd seen him do it to Inquisitors, after all. And what was Luke but a glorified Inquisitor?

This was so, so _reckless_. He knew the risks.

He knew the risks, he thought grimly as he thumbed the keypad, and he chose to take them.

Hobbie lay half-conscious on the floor; apparently the troopers who'd dumped him in here hadn't even bothered to drag him onto the bunk in the corner. He stirred briefly as the light fell across his face. "What—"

Luke cast his senses out. No one nearby, no one to hit lock on the door if he walked in to help him out; he was safe. And if he _did_ get locked in, he could unlock it through the Force.

Still, his steps were urgent and hurried as he descended the steps and got one of Hobbie's arms around his shoulder.

". . .Darred?" Hobbie slurred, but he was more awake now. "Did you escape?"

"Yes," Luke lied. "The stun blast wore off pretty quickly, I managed to get away from the troopers."

After a moment's thought, he realised he couldn't explain the fact that the guards to the detention level were still awake. So naturally he reached out, got a feel for their individual consciousnesses, then knocked them out through the Force.

"Let's go. We need to hurry."

Hobbie was awake enough to walk on his own by the time they reached Wedge's cell. Wedge was more alert, and _jumped_ at the opportunity to escape; thankfully, he didn't even question how they'd done it. Luke didn't have an in-depth explanation yet himself.

Biggs remained calm. He seemed sceptical, even concerned—Luke supposed growing up on a lawless dustball like Tatooine would breed a natural suspicion, and he wondered briefly if he'd be like that if his father hadn't found him—but wasn't one to turn down an opportunity when he saw it.

Luke felt it when Governor Pryce was knocked out. They kept running, and ran right into Wren.

"Hey," he said, cheeks pink and panting slightly. She'd clearly just been fighting. Her fingers were curled around the grip of a trooper's blaster. "You got out?"

Wedge nodded. "Darred escaped the guards and came looking for us."

"How'd you know what cells to look in?"

Luke shrugged, and hoped the gesture didn't betray his nervousness. "I. . . didn't. I opened a few wrong doors at first, then guessed."

"You were pretty quick if you spent all that time opening doors. Good guesses."

He shrugged again. The back of his neck was damp with sweat. "I guess I got lucky."

He could sense her suspicion, still, but it wasn't negative. It was more like. . . she was impressed. She suspected there was more to him—Jedi-like reflexes and intuition and all—but she still believed him a genuine sympathiser.

Rebels. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Even the ex-Imperials were far too trusting.

And speaking of reflexes—

" _Look out_!" Luke grabbed Wedge and dived to the side as a crimson blaster bolt streaked down the corridor. He watched the trooper advance. . . then retreat again as Wren took aim at them, her precision deadly.

She had good aim; he had to give her that.

"Other way, let's go!"

They hurtled around a corner, the troopers in hot pursuit. Luke could already see Wedge, Biggs and Hobbie beginning to tire—they clearly weren't used to running so much after a stun blast—but they needed to push on. They needed to—

The thought brought him up short.

What?

How were they going to escape?

Getting to the hangars was the obvious answer; if they played it right, and flew well enough, _they_ could escape. But Luke couldn't.

He needed to go back to Coruscant—he needed to go back to his father. And Leia.

He needed to tell her that she was right. That maybe these Rebels had something to them after all.

And he couldn't do that if he fled with the Rebellion. Even if that could mean finally meeting Amidala, finally meeting—

_Maybe_ finally meeting his mother.

What had she thought, all these years her offspring had fought against everything she stood for?

What would she think of _this_?

The troopers were gaining again. Luke stopped in the middle of the corridor.

"Darred, what are you _doing_ —"

Luke flung out his hands and the troopers were blasted back. The door closed across the corridor without anyone pushing the button.

He turned back to his companions. Wren was gaping at him.

"You're a J—"

"Not exactly," he said quietly. A flick of his finger, and the door on the other end of the corridor closed as well.

" _'Not exactly_ '? Who else is there?"

Luke's snarky side was tempted to point out Ahsoka Tano, but Wren didn't need any further prompting. She was staring at him, at his eyes, his fingers. One of her hands curled around her bicep, her arm across her chest; it had suddenly become extremely cold in here.

She snarled at him, " _Demon_."

"Sabine?" Wedge asked, looking from one to the other. "Darred? What's going on?"

Luke ignored him, and kept his gaze fixed on Wren.

"Avoid levels three through five," he told her. He could sense the activity of the academy, like buzzing spots of light around his head. "Hangar twenty-four is your best possibility."

Another press of the Force, and one of the doors opened again.

"Why should I trust you?" she spat. The blaster was levelled at him now. "You're an _Imperial_ , you're—"

"I know exactly who I am," he said coolly. "If I wanted you dead, I would have left you to Pryce. Now, I suggest you get moving, before she manages to catch up with you."

Reluctantly, Wren lowered the blaster. She jerked her head at Biggs, Wedge, Hobbie, and they followed her down the corridor, casting questioning looks as each other and Luke.

"Oh," Luke called after them. "And tell Amidala," he took a breath, his gaze unwittingly shifting to Biggs, then took the jump, "that Luke Skywalker sends his regards."

He ignored the shock in the Force, and instead shut the door again. He was still facing in that direction when the one he'd just come through opened.

He jumped, whirling around, his hand out.

"Don't," Kallus said. "I'm not going to hurt you." He surveyed Luke for a moment. "I. . . wasn't aware that the Rebellion had more than one of us here."

_More than one of us here. . ._

Luke wanted to laugh, or cry, or both. Kallus had just admitted to him that he was a Rebel agent. He might even be the Fulcrum agent who'd told the Rebellion about the defectors in the first place.

And he thought Luke was a Fulcrum agent as well.

He didn't say anything, but Kallus was already turning away.

"I'll doctor the recordings," he said. "I suggest you get out of here quickly, before Pryce looks too closely at the reasons for their escape."

Luke watched him go.

The Rebels escaped. Barely, but they escaped. Later on, Luke would board a shuttle back to Coruscant, accompanied by a furious Governor Pryce who would not _shut up_ about how this wasn't a show of her incompetence.

Luke didn't care.

He had more important things to think about.

* * *

A Togruta female and a human female stood alone in a briefing room. The holoprojector was turned off, the lights dimmed. The only sound was the whirring of the machinery around them.

The lights came on briefly when a dark-haired young man from a planet the human female had once sent all her hopes to walked in. He gave his report.

There was silence for a moment.

"You're sure he said _Luke Skywalker_?" the Togruta asked.

The man nodded. "Absolutely, ma'am." He hesitated, eyes flicking to the woman. "If I may ask. . ."

The woman didn't miss a beat. "What is it, Lieutenant Darklighter?"

"This _Skywalker_. Why is the name so important?"

"To me or to you?"

The man responded, "It's not _important_ to me, just. . . familiar."

The woman and the Togruta exchanged a glance.

The Togruta stepped forward, her two lightsabers swinging on her belt. "Luke Skywalker's name is important because he shouldn't know it. As far as we knew, both he and his sister were unaware of the full truth of who they are."

"And who are they?"

No reply.

Darklighter answered his own question. "They're the twins who vanished from Tatooine ten years ago, aren't they? Why are they working for the Empire?"

The woman was staring at nothing, lost in thought. The Togruta lay a hand on her shoulder.

"I think, Lieutenant Darklighter," she said quietly, "you'll find out soon enough."


	16. Third Shadow

Leia watched her brother's shuttle land from a window high in the Imperial Palace, and barely dared to test their bond.

She could sense his. . . moroseness. . . from here, as well as a surprising—and paradoxical—blend of what felt like guilt and. . . resolve? She wasn't sure; she could barely unpick her own knotted emotions nowadays, let alone her brother's.

But whatever it was, it cleared slightly when she reached out to him. He reached back, and she felt herself relax, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

He reported back to Palpatine in the throne room. A few other courtiers were there, Mas Amedda, the guards, but Luke didn't even spare the onlookers a glance.

Palpatine made a curt motion, gesturing most of the courtiers away. They all filed out without delay; it did not do to keep the Emperor waiting.

Leia listened from her spot by the throne. In a moment, Luke would stand here and she would stand where he was, reporting on the events of the investigation so far. But. . .

Her brother was being oddly. . . stiff.

She could sense tension building, but she wasn't sure where.

Luke's words were hard and cold. His mind shuttered off. _Leia_ could barely sense the lies in his voice and through the Force; she very much doubted Palpatine could. Apparently he _did_ know how to shut his own emotions away when he needed to.

But she _did_ sense the lie, and therein lay the question: what was he lying about?

What had actually happened?

"The operation went smoothly at first, my master," he said, kneeling. Leia didn't know why Palpatine was so intent on hearing this—it had been a routine, low-priority mission, meant to get Luke accustomed to working alone—but she suspected he had a reason. He _always_ had a reason. "I befriended the traitors, confirmed that I had all their names, then Pryce sprung her trap and caught them all. They were escorted to the cells and I returned to the dormitories to gather my things, believing the matter to be over."

Palpatine's fingers tapped slowly on the arm of his throne, one by one. "And yet it wasn't," he said unequivocally. "You failed."

"I didn't fail at anything, Master." The words were quiet, but with a core of steel. Leia was surprised; her brother was usually a lot more. . . pliant. . . when it came to facing down Palpatine. He was either recklessly righteous, or willing to compromise. There was no in between. "I did my job. Pryce made the mistake of interrogating Wren alone, and Wren beat the stuffing out of her. One can assume that she freed her comrades from there."

A strange flutter in the Force: a half-truth. Not a lie, but only through a technicality.

"I went looking for them"—flutter—"but the dormitories are far from the holding cells"—flutter—"and by the time I arrived in the hangar Captain Skerris had already flown in pursuit of them."

He lifted his chin. "I did everything I could."

"Indeed." Palpatine's tone was not charitable. "Perhaps you did. But it still wasn't enough."

"No, Master." Luke lifted his head from staring at the floor, and met Palpatine's yellow gaze straight on. "It wasn't."

His body was slightly tensed, his head turned to the side. He was bracing himself for the lightning, Leia realised.

Palpatine glanced at her—and perhaps he was considering it, even. "You are prepared to face the punishment for failure?"

Luke kept his gaze steady and drawled with borderline insolence, "Whatever my master deems fit."

"And your sister?"

Leia's gaze snapped up. Palpatine was gesturing to her with one gnarled hand, fingers curled. "If she punishes you for your failure? It is her future Empire you have let down; you have failed _her_ more than you have me, in allowing this threat to remain instead of crushing it here and now. What if _she_ punishes you, as she eventually will have to in the future?"

Luke met Leia's eye, and smiled. She smiled back.

Palpatine was a master manipulator. But at his core, he did not understand love at all.

Luke shifted his gaze back to Palpatine, the smile still on his face. "My loyalties lie where they always have."

Palpatine's hand twitched on the armrest.

Leia held her breath.

Luke's smile dropped.

Finally, after one long moment, Palpatine started to laugh.

He laughed for a while. Long enough for Luke to frown slightly, and exchange glances with Leia.

Then he said, "It appears this mission was good for you after all, my boy." He smiled broadly. "You've finally grown a spine."

Leia sucked in an angry breath at the perceived insult—the fact that she'd been snapping at Luke about his habitual deference to Vader a few weeks ago did _not_ mean Palpatine was allowed to—

But Luke just bowed his head, and made to get to his feet without being prompted. "Thank you, my master—"

"Your father would be proud."

Luke froze momentarily—Leia felt his flash of resentment—then finished rising. The corners of his lips were turned down, but he nodded in acknowledgement.

Leia watched his lips work, and knew he couldn't force the final _thank you_ out of his throat.

She stepped forward before he had to.

"Master," she said, "so, to summarise what we've found so far. . ."

* * *

Luke was impressed that Leia waited until they'd sat down in the speeder to head home before she came out with all of her questions.

She didn't start on the one he'd expected.

"So," she said, even as she piloted the speeder past a billboard, "the Sixth Sister came looking for you while you were away."

Jade? Luke frowned. "Why in the galaxy would she do that?"

"That was what I was going to ask you."

He frowned harder. "I helped her out a bit, but—"

Leia stopped the speeder so fast that without his reflexes, he'd have been hurled over the front and into the fathoms of Coruscant. "You _what_?"

"I gave her some of the information our spies had gathered on Phoenix Squadron! I got Thrawn off the case! That's all I did!"

She frowned herself, but relaxed slightly, and they continued onwards. "Why?"

"She needed help, and I figured we had nothing to lose. If it warms her up to us, that might be a potential ally we have in the Inquisitorius."

"The Inquisitors are Palpatine's creatures."

"Aren't we all?"

It was both the most offensive and the most sensible thing he'd ever said to her. "Point taken. But you know that's not what I meant."

He knew. He stayed silent.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She hid it well, but there was hurt in her voice—and confusion. Distance.

Leia was perhaps the only person in the galaxy he didn't want to be distant from right now.

"You were away," he admitted. "And I wasn't sure enough about what was going on to say it over the comms, and risk someone listening in. And then you came back, from _Tatooine_ , and—"

"I see."

He glanced at her. "So. . ."

"It's alright." She smiled a little, the neon sign they flew past lighting her teeth red, but then the smile dropped and she asked, "And now, are you gonna tell me what _actually_ happened at Skystrike?"

He flinched.

He felt her concern a moment later, but he waved it away. "I will," he promised. "I _want_ to tell you. But. . . I think I need to process what happened myself, first." Shame flooded him: he didn't know if it was because he'd let them go, or because he hadn't done it sooner.

If he had, Rake might still be alive. . .

Leia was quiet for a moment. "You've been keeping a lot of secrets recently."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I know you are." She let out a breath, and the shame inside him tripled. He knew that wasn't her intention—that if he said he needed to work things out on his own, she believed him—but it did anyway. "I just don't like that you have to."

Neither did he.

They were twins. They'd been inside each others' heads more than their own since before they were born. Working things out alone was as alien a concept to them as democracy, or righteous rebellion.

But things were changing rapidly now, and Luke didn't like how rapidly they were changing with them.

* * *

Leia weighed up the comlink in her hand and glanced at the contact information for the fifth time in as many minutes.

Contacting Tsabin— _Sabé_ —would be risky. No, beyond that. It would be _treason_.

She supposed she could argue that she was still investigating every Rebel lead she had, but. . .

She had to do this, she reminded herself. If only to understand her enemy more: Sabé had been more than willing to answer her questions before, no doubt in her misguided and pointless— _utterly pointless_ —attempt to _convert_ Leia, or some equally foolish crusade. It was ridiculous, of course, and doomed to fail, but Leia might as well take advantage of it.

Of course, she knew that _understanding her enemy_ was not the reason she was doing this, but she didn't want to think about that.

Whatever had happened on Skystrike, Luke didn't want to talk about it in great depth. Or at all. And Leia wasn't used to the two of them keeping secrets from each other.

Whatever had happened, it was big, and _he was keeping it from her_.

Which was well within his rights (provided such a thing was not a threat to them all, as stated in Imperial law), but—

It was petty, and pointless, but—

She kind of wanted to keep something big from him in retaliation.

That still wasn't the reason she was doing this.

Neither of those reasons were.

Leia, as much as she wanted to be, wasn't ruthlessly analytical enough to push aside her personal biases for the former; she _certainly_ wasn't one to sink low enough for the latter.

But she didn't want to think about the real reason. Doubt was a weakness, when it was in oneself or one's allies; it was _especially_ a weakness when it was in one's own beliefs.

Her thumb hovered over the comlink, ready to type in the frequency and make the connection. She must have been sitting here for a solid half hour by now.

Luke was still snoring in the adjacent room, but he would wake soon. Her father was still storming through the _Devastator_ in orbit, but he would return soon. She was running out of time.

If she didn't do this now, she'd never do this at all.

Although her brother was currently ahead of her on that count, Palpatine did not call Leia _reckless_ for no reason. Before she knew it she'd typed in the frequency, and watched the comlink buzz with a detached sense of horror.

She could always hang up, she decided. Besides, who knew if Sabé would even answer—

_"Tsabin."_

So much for that hope.

Leia was silent for another few breaths—long enough for Sabé to deduce, _"Leia?"_

Well. She was smarter than Leia had given her credit for—or maybe Rebel agents were just used to short and sharp messages, to avoid Imperial detection, rather than several minutes of awkward silence.

". . .yes," Leia ground out finally, figuring that the more she stalled, the more Sabé thought it was her, anyway. She tried to take back control with, "I had some follow-up questions about Padmé Amidala," but her thumb still lingered on the button to disconnect the call. She could stop this at any moment.

But she didn't.

_"Hmm,"_ Sabé said, her voice betraying nothing. It both impressed and infuriated Leia at the same time. _"Well, I'd be happy to answer any reasonable questions you have."_ The word _reasonable_ did not get past Leia; clearly if she asked any dangerous questions, Sabé would cut the call just as quickly as Leia could. _"Padmé was—"_

"This is less about the woman herself," Leia cut her off. She was getting restless, her leg bouncing, foot tapping on the floor. She got to her feet and started pacing her bedroom. Ten paces to the door; eight paces along to the refresher; six paces along the wall on the way back. "More about the Republic. Obviously I was not _alive_ at this time, and information about that government is. . . limited," _censored_ , and even if Leia _did_ have the clearance to get past it, it had a heavy pro-Imperial slant anyway, "so I'd like to know more."

Sabé's voice was as calm as Senator Amidala's was in everything Leia had read or researched on her. _"What would you like to know?"_

Leia hesitated. "The Senate," she said finally. "How did they avoid corruption?" _Or did they, at all?_ "Even in the Empire today, there are still corrupt governors and selfish, personal power plays, and that's _with_ one man vetting each person he thinks would be best for the job. How did the Republic manage it?" It wasn't like public elections were infallible.

Palpatine had got into power, after all.

_"Arguably, the problems with the Empire today are because absolute power corrupts absolutely. Not that Palpatine wasn't corrupt before, but any one person in power will inevitably favour themselves and their own interests—as well as their loved ones'—over other things that may perhaps demand their attention._ That's _how corrupt people get into power in dictatorships; because they see how they can use it to their advantage, and their actions go ignored so long as they play to what the ruler wants."_

"I'm not talking about the flaws of the Empire," Leia snapped, a little too quickly. "That's treason." _And_ this _isn't?_

But really: she wasn't going to sit here and listen to Sabé insult her ability to lead justly. She was here to listen to logic, not Rebel propaganda.

But. . .

She sighed and observed, "You're saying that people are inherently selfish."

_"Everyone has selfishness to them, yes."_

"Which is why democracy doesn't work! People can't be relied upon to vote for the good of the whole, instead of the good of themselves!"

_"Isn't that better than having one person's selfish views rule a galaxy for two decades? And what evidence do you have that the Republic was so corrupt?"_

"They allowed slavery to thrive—"

Sabé almost seemed to laugh at that. _"And the Empire has not?"_

"It won't in the future," Leia insisted mutinously. "And I think the fact that half the galaxy got so sick of the Republic's hypocrisy and decided to withdraw, causing a galactic civil war the likes of which hadn't been seen for centuries, is pretty damning evidence against the idea that they _lacked corruption_."

_"I'm not saying the Republic wasn't corrupt. But who was it that orchestrated the Clone Wars?"_

Leia's thought process ground to a halt at that. _Palpatine._

"He— he used previous flaws to his advantage," she argued, "but he couldn't have exacerbated flaws that weren't already there. The Empire _is_ the best way—just not with _him_ at the head of it."

This was reckless, admitting to a near-complete stranger that she disagreed with Palpatine. It wasn't farfetched to extrapolate and assume a coup was in place, and if it got back to Palpatine. . .

But it wasn't like he didn't already know.

_"Are you sure?"_ Sabé pressed. _"Because—"_

Leia disconnected the call.

Then she screamed.

Pent up rage inside her ripped through the room, rattling the window and stirring Luke from his sleep. A clumsy probe was directed at her; she waved it off. _I'm alright._

She just didn't want to argue with Sabé anymore. The woman was too calm, too rational in her arguments, and Leia was still wracked with self-doubt.

It occurred to her, staring at the comlink in her hand, that she'd never received an answer to her question.

* * *

Despite Leia's insistence that she was alright, the fact that she'd lost control enough to actually wake him was a sign she really _wasn't_. But Luke wasn't going to press.

She wasn't pressing him for the details she so desperately wanted, after all.

So he just sighed, and rolled over in bed, eyes still drooping closed. He knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep again—Leia was still a storm in human form in the adjacent room—so he didn't bother, and dragged himself to his feet.

He'd been napping a lot more than usual lately, but he was tired. Loyalty crises could do that to a person.

Coruscant twinkled at night, and Luke had always found it soothing to just stand out on the balcony in the relative quiet of darkness and watch the speeders zoom by. He remembered when he'd first come to this planet, ten years old and used to nothing but the isolation of Mustafar—and, presumably, Tatooine. It had felt like stepping into an echo chamber where all anyone could do was scream.

Eventually, Luke had learnt to shut out the thoughts of all the millions of beings who called Coruscant home, and shut out His Imperial Majesty right along with them. But night was still calming for him: as little as Coruscant ever slept, it was still a damn sight calmer than the day.

He lazily sank into the Force. Leia was a whirlwind behind him, as always. His father still loomed like a larger-than-life mynock on the _Devastator_ in orbit, on the other side of the planet. Palpatine was meditating in the Palace, but his attention wasn't directed towards Luke in any way. No one else was worth identifying; Luke just closed his eyes, losing himself in the rush and lull of the Force, ebbs and swirls, the light and the dark and—

The light.

His eyes flew open; he immediately scanned the buildings around him. There was a smudge of white on the landing pad opposite him that he was fairly sure wasn't supposed to be there. It was of a humanoid shape.

Another flash— _there_! That was definitely it. Someone who shone in the Force like a Jedi; they'd dropped their shields long enough for him to sense their presence, then ramped them back up again before he could sense much more than that.

He tentatively reached out to Leia behind him. She remained antsy, infuriated, on edge. She likely hadn't noticed.

But he had.

He reached for his lightsaber, the grip solid and comfortable in his hand. He allowed a small smile to curl his lips. Hunting a Jedi through Coruscant would be exactly what he needed right now, an escape from the doubts plaguing him. Maybe he should get Leia in on it; they could collaborate, make it a sport and regain some of the camaraderie they seemed to have lost—

The cool touch of the Jedi's mind against his. The words were barely whispered, but they stalled any thoughts in their tracks.

_Amidala sends her regards, Luke Skywalker._

He froze.

His heart beat faster, and faster, and faster. Force. Oh _Force_ , he knew he'd been stupid to say that to Wren and her defectors; of course this was happening, what else had he thought? Of course they'd want to assess him, and what?

Turn him?

Did they think he was interested in defecting?

No. The thought had genuinely never even crossed his mind; his place was here. At the head of the Empire. This Jedi was gravely mistaken if they thought he was interested in having any sort of conversation with them _or_ Amidala?

_Even if she's your mother?_

Luke pushed the thought away. It didn't matter. He wouldn't talk to the Jedi.

But. . .

What harm would it do? If he was so certain that he wouldn't be swayed, then he ought to lead the Jedi on, talk to them, get as much information from them as possible. . . then kill them. That was what his kind _did_ to Jedi.

_His kind._ Luke snorted. As if he and Leia _had_ a kind.

But talking to the Jedi wouldn't hurt. As far as he knew, it could either be Bridger, Jarrus or Tano. He could take the first two in a fight easily enough—his father was fiercely proud of it, and said so, though that meant less to Luke now than it used to. He wasn't sure how well he could fight Tano, but he was sure he could hold her off until Leia arrived with backup.

_Who are you?_ Luke asked, just in case.

No reply.

Luke huffed. Well. Alright then.

He made for the landing pad, assuring Leia that he'd be back soon when she shot him a questioning probe. Then he took off in the speeder and brought it around to the landing pad he'd seen the Jedi on.

He didn't know which senator or governor or other member of the elite owned this particular starscraper, but its lights were dark, with no one to be sensed inside. There were no security sensors either; the only sound to be heard after he disembarked was his own footsteps.

He could sense the Jedi somewhere down, on his left. He squinted, pulling on the dark side to enhance his vision and awareness, then spotted it: a maintenance walkway wrapped around the side of the building. There were no landing pads nearby, but steel struts expanded out from the skyscraper's main body a few levels below him, where the prestigious, coveted residences gave way to the sort of abandoned building works that were everywhere on Coruscant.

_A planet of ghosts,_ he thought.

Then he shook the thought away, pulled on the Force again, and jumped.

He landed squarely on one of the steel beams criss-crossing between the buildings. It rang underneath him; for one moment he was staring over the edge, straight down, Coruscant's five thousand levels dropping away below him. It was always dizzying when that happened.

Then he reminded himself there was still a Jedi in his vicinity. He rolled to his feet, and jumped again.

He landed on the next strut a little less elegantly. He rolled, pulling feverishly on the Force to minimise damage, but his knees still got banged up pretty badly. He settled for a few muttered curses.

He got to his feet again.

His two massive jumps had covered the distance more than effectively. He was in line with the Jedi now, standing on a strut that hugged the building opposite the Jedi's, and could make out their silhouette across the gap, though they still wore a dark enough robe for it to be a challenge.

They stood for a moment, staring at each other across the gap.

It was like a scene out of a painting: one figure standing in shade, one in Coruscant's nighttime glow. Luke had no doubt his black outfit would have blended into the shadows just as effectively as her robe did, but he wasn't wearing a hood.

As it was, he stood near a street lamp. The yellow light bled strange patterns onto the metal he stood on; it gleamed off his hair like a beacon. The Jedi could see every inch of him clearly, while he could only make out a vague shape of them.

Strange. In this painting, the one who stood in the light was the furthest from it, while the one who stood in the shadows had no fear of the dark.

Once it became clear Luke wouldn't come any closer if he didn't know what he was getting into, the Jedi's Force sense became almost. . . amused.

_If you insist_ , they acquiesced, and lowered their hood.

Luke squinted, watching white montrals emerge, then a brown-orange face, until he was certain it was a Togruta standing all those metres in front of him. There was another few moments as he automatically categorised other pertinent details about the figure—their height, their age, the twin lightsabers he could see at their belt—but logically he already knew those things. He knew exactly who this was.

Of the few Jedi still alive, how many of them were Togruta, after all?

Ahsoka Tano grinned and shouted, "So? Are you coming over here?"

Yes. Yes, if only because it might give him a chance to fight and maybe even capture one of the few Rebels he'd heard his father rant about so much, who his father despised with everything in himself, a person whose capture would make his father proud—

No.

Making his father proud wasn't his priority, anymore.

And even if he did capture her, what then? What was to stop her from spilling the truth of what Luke had done at Skystrike, and leave him to face Palpatine's wrath for his treason?

Because it _had_ been treason. Luke accepted that now. It was hardly the first treasonous thing he'd done in the past few months.

He eyed the jump, and took a few steps back. He'd never managed to jump the distance of one Coruscant building to another—at least, not in Imperial City. In some of the industrial districts the buildings were more cramped together, and he could play hopscotch with them _there_ , but here. . .

It was a manageable distance, he decided. Especially with the steel strut giving him a running start.

He took a few steps back, and made the jump.

He'd been wrong.

The jump was still too short. The moment he noticed he panicked, more thoughts than there were levels below him flashing through his mind in an instant—

He searched for a place to catch himself, something to hang onto—there, a rickety ramp; there, a possible handhold in a beam, but at this speed he'd tear his arms out of their sockets—

He slowed in mid air. The cool touch of the Force made him roll his eyes.

Of course.

Tano's hands were out, her brows furrowed in concentration. She brought him over the safety railings around the walkway, and set him down gently.

He got to his feet as quickly as possible and folded his arms across his chest, desperately trying not to flush. This. . . was not how he'd wanted it to go.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Ahsoka Tano."

She only smiled. "Luke Skywalker." Something about the way she said it felt like destiny. Like she'd been waiting for this for a long time.

She eyed the strut he'd just jumped from, then flicked her gaze back to him. "Well, you're certainly as reckless as Anakin once was."

There was so much to unpack in that sentence—someone _actually using_ his father's name, the familiarity she said it with—but what he snapped was, "Don't compare me to him."

She appeared. . . taken aback. . . by that. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't realise you hated him."

"I don't!" His tone was only getting angrier, and the dark side responded to it. It swirled at his heels, dragged the temperature around them down to a nipping cold. Goosebumps rose on his arms.

Tano held her hands up, and he didn't think he was imagining the worry in her voice as she said, "Alright. I'm sorry for assuming anything." She dropped her hands and observed him for a minute. "You're. . . darker than I thought. You felt lighter earlier."

"I am not _light_."

"Do you love your sister?"

He scoffed, disgusted with this. "Of course I do, Jedi scum. That's none of your—"

"Not a Jedi."

He blinked. "What?"

"I'm not a Jedi. I'd have thought you would know that," she smiled, somewhat wryly, "I told your father in no uncertain terms. Pretty dramatically, I might add."

"I don't care," he said. He _had_ known that, and now he berated himself for his slip—hadn't he debated throwing that in Wren's face only a few days ago? "Stay out of my family business."

After a moment, he processed that this woman _had_ just saved his life, so maybe it would just be civil to—

"I'm not gonna collect the debt, Luke, don't worry." He scowled—he doubted she'd read his thoughts, so the fact that he'd lost control of his facial expression, or become so predictable, was an undesirable one.

"And as for your _family business_. . ." she trailed off, looking at him hard. "Your mother sent me to talk to you. _You_ contacted _her_ , after all."

He half-turned away, arms still folded stubbornly. "That was nothing. I'm not gonna. . . defect, or whatever you hope will come from this. I'm not even thinking about it."

"You committed treason by letting those pilots go."

"I was doing the only right thing. They didn't want to stay in the navy under corrupt officials who ordered them to break Imperial protocol. They can go fight a doomed cause if they really want, and when they get caught on an unarmed vessel and _don't_ get fired on, _as per Imperial protocol_ , they'll realise the truth, and be forced to live with the burden of what they've done."

"And what have they done?"

He fidgeted. "Turned their lasers on the best government this galaxy has seen."

"You don't believe that."

"The best _form_ of government," he continued stubbornly. "Palpatine is a fluke."

"And you think the galaxy would be better off without him?"

He paused, but— "Of course."

"The Rebellion—"

"No."

To his surprise, she laughed. "Well, I can't say I wasn't hoping. But I'm not surprised."

He dropped his arms from across his chest and just fiddled with a loose thread at the edge of his sleeve. "Why did you come here, Tano?"

"You contacted us."

"That was an experiment."

"To see if Amidala was who you thought she was?" Tano tilted her head. "She is."

"Padmé Amidala?"

"Your mother."

All the breath left him. He _known_ —at least, he'd thought that he'd known—but hearing it out loud like that. . . "You know we've been hunting for this sort of information for years."

"And what are you gonna do with it now?" She smirked a little. "Go to Palpatine?"

Luke said nothing.

After the silence got unbearable, he sighed. "You never told me what you wanted."

"I told you, I was sent here."

"What does _Amidala_ want, then?"

"She wants to know her son."

The words were quiet, but Luke flinched anyway.

"Then why didn't she come herself?" he challenged. His hands trembled; he clenched them into fists at his sides.

Ahsoka folded her arms. "The leader of the Rebellion, coming to the very heart of the Empire? You know exactly why." Her voice softened again. "But she still wants to meet you and your sister."

"Then why did she dump us on Tatooine when we were born?" The words were harsh; they ripped out of his throat with little input from his actual mind. "It didn't exactly look like she wanted to play happy families when she left us to rot in poverty, did it?"

Ahsoka hesitated, at that. "You remember Tatooine? We were under the impression you didn't."

"As of a few weeks ago," he ground out, resolutely ignoring the implication that they'd been watching them for a while now, _maybe his entire life_ , "I do." _I gave Wren the name Luke Skywalker for a reason._

Before she could analyse it in any more detail, he pushed on, "So she didn't want us when we needed her, but the moment we _don't_ , she tries to waltz right back in?"

"There were. . . extenuating circumstances when you were born—"

Luke turned away before she could finish.

"She wants to know you, Luke," Tano said quietly. "She didn't get to be there during your childhood, and she wants to know the person you've become."

Luke laughed.

It sounded ugly, even to his own ears. He took two sharp steps away from Tano and yanked his lightsaber off his belt, lighting it in one fluid motion. The crimson blade always seemed to hum more angrily than Jedi lightsabers; it cast his face in red light.

He said, "I doubt very much she wants to know the person I've become."


	17. The Imperial Cog

The next day dawned bright and early, and unusual in that for once Luke, Leia _and_ Vader were required to attend this new meeting.

The tension in the speeder on the ride there could have been cut with a knife. Neither of the twins had spoken to their father except in passing since his. . . revelation, and there didn't seem much to say.

"It would be helpful," Vader said—Leia cringed at the sight of Luke's knuckles whitening at the controls, but she clenched her fists just as tightly—"if one of you could summarise what this important meeting is about."

Luke kept staring straight ahead, but they could both feel his attention flick behind him in the Force. "You didn't read the report?"

Leia didn't know why he was surprised. What their father thought relevant or not was a thrilling saga of which reports they had to summarise to him mind-to-mind today, so that he didn't accidentally look foolish in front of some senator or choke _another_ politician important to Palpatine's plans.

"No," Vader admitted. "I did not want to."

Everything he said was with such gravity that the flippancy in his tone made Luke pause. Exchange a glance with Leia. They'd heard him fiercely protective, intense, sarcastic—but it was rare for him to be _flippant_.

Luke relaxed, slightly. It was a sign he wanted to make amends, if nothing else, and Leia knew her brother would never be able to hold a grudge against Vader for too long. Even if his hero worship had died with their ignorance, he was still his father.

"It's a briefing," he said, a slight fond smile in his voice. "Palpatine, Tarkin"—Leia was glad to sense equal distaste in their father for the man to their own—"and some of the other important moffs will be there. It's about Empire Day."

"A waste of time."

"Agreed." Leia kicked back to plant her feet on the seat in front of her, near Luke's elbow, and slouched down in her own seat. "But they're gonna unveil the _Executor_ —"

"Convenient," Vader muttered, "that the _moment_ I clear all the spies from the _Devastator_ he assigns me a new flagship."

"—and some other stuff. Project Stardust? I don't think we have clearance to know the details about that yet. But the _Executor_ had been in production much longer than the _Devastator_ 's been clean."

"He accelerated the production once he realised he had no idea what was happening on my flagship."

" _We_ accelerated the production, Father. We were the ones at Kuat." There was tension in Luke's voice again, and Leia couldn't blame him. Affection or not, Vader had betrayed their trust. He needed to earn it back, and accusing them of conspiracy was not the way to do it.

He didn't back down, though. "And who was it that sent you there?"

That. . . was a valid point.

"Who was it who didn't bat an eyelid when Tarkin commandeered the system for himself, no doubt keeping tabs on and codes to every military vessel that leaves it?"

Also a valid point, but Leia would die before she admitted it.

Luke had no such reservations. Conceding to Vader was his specialty, after all. "Alright. But the ceremony with the _Executor_ 's only a part of the celebrations. It's the eighteenth Empire Day—the Empire is an _adult_ , has _stood the test of time_ and all that—and Palpatine wants to go all out on the celebrations."

"It's your eighteenth birthday, as well."

_That_ mellowed Leia slightly as well. Their father hated Empire Day—it was the day their mother had _supposedly_ died—and while he did make sure to shower them with gifts for their birthday, he was always closed off and detached.

He wouldn't talk about the topic unless the Emperor forced him to. He disliked mere mentions of it. Half the time he had to lock himself in his hyperbaric chamber and leave them to their own devices for the day, for fear that in his anger and self-loathing he might unwittingly hurt them.

If _he_ was bringing it up _voluntarily_. . . he was trying.

"Wow," Luke said, "I wonder what you'll get us as a present."

Vader's finger sprung out of his glove and jabbed the back of Luke's head. "Neither of you have ever worn the capes I gave you last year. Nor the year before that."

"We wore them to that stupid social function for Palpatine's birthday!"

"I do not mean to _parties_. They are not meant for looking _stylish and sophisticated_ in any formal setting. They are meant for looking intimidating at any given moment, _especially_ in front of one's enemies." He leaned forward to pat Luke on the head. The motion had the usual jerky uncertainty to it that all of Vader's affection did. "Something you need _dearly_ , my son."

"Sure. Because I look _terrifying_ when I accidentally slice off a portion of my own cape because it got in the way."

"They are not impractical if you wear them correctly. You simply need practice. I did not have them made blaster-proof, fireproof, _as well as_ 'looking good', or whatever you are so hung up on, just for them to sit on the floor of your wardrobe for a year."

Luke opened his mouth to defend himself, then closed it again. Leia laughed.

She nodded at the Palace as they pulled onto the landing pad. "We're here."

"One more thing," Vader said.

They paused. Leia waited a moment before prompting, a little sharply, "What?"

"Palpatine is overseeing some executions immediately after this briefing," he said. Leia wondered fleetingly how he'd known that if he hadn't even known what the briefing was about—then thought about it. There was a good chance he _had_ known all along, but just wanted to get a conversation going. "I propose that during the time in which we know we will be unoccupied, we should return to the apartment and discuss that project we are working on."

Luke and Leia exchanged a look, but nodded. "Alright."

"Good." Vader tilted his helmet towards the entrance. "Should we go in?"

* * *

Luke was distracted throughout most of the meeting, his encounter with Tano burning a hole in his mind. She'd rattled off a comlink frequency to contact her by if he ever wanted to _know more about his mother_ —Luke _really hated_ that she'd clocked onto the thing he was most desperate for—and while he couldn't remember it off the top of his head, he knew that if he drew on the Force to enhance his memory he'd certainly be able to.

He almost did, there and then in the briefing, but then Tarkin said something, they were all reciting _Long live the Emperor_ , and they were dismissed.

Luke hadn't taken in a word of what had been said. He hoped they'd send out the scripts for the meeting—he'd need them, or he'd have no idea of the timetable.

The speeder ride back was less tense than the one there. Their father was flying this time, allowing Luke to sit in the back and let his mind drift.

Leia could sense his mood, the state of turmoil that seemed to dog them constantly nowadays. She left him alone.

Then they arrived at home, into the living room with the certainty of privacy, and his father started talking about the future of the galaxy.

"My power base on the _Devastator_ is firm and unquestionable," he began, standing and staring out over Coruscant, the way the sun glinted off the steel spires. No holos or visual representations of this informal briefing; no damning evidence to be found. Vader was telling them the important things, in the trust that they would remember. " Admiral Montferrat is loyal to me and me alone, and his crew would follow him anywhere."

" _All_ of them?" Leia asked, looking skeptical.

"Naturally some of the newer recruits, as well as the more cowardly ones, are loyal only to themselves, but they are too afraid of me to turn traitor. Any informants are dealt with swiftly by the rest of the crew."

Luke frowned. "So they're afraid of you. Is fear the only thing keeping them in line? What about me and Leia?"

"The two of you have a certain notoriety as my children, and as participants in the bloodbath that was the Kuat operation, as well as a few others—"

Luke's hackles rose. " _None_ of those were our fault."

"I agree with you, son. But nevertheless, you _are_ implicated in the minds of the general public, if only on those occasions, as the ones who re-established the peace. Overall, the two of you have cultivated a reputation for effectiveness, fairness, and a lack of corruption. Many of the stormtroopers, pilots and low-ranking officers would follow you for only one of those traits, let alone all of them." He turned, and—in a surprisingly affectionate gesture—rested his hand on Leia's shoulder.

His voice was undeniably proud as he said, "You are the model of what an Imperial leader should be."

Shame burned the backs of Luke's eyes, his throat, as he thought of his conversation with Tano just the previous night. He made sure to keep his shields steady.

Funny—he thought he sensed a strengthening of Leia's shields, as well. He figured he might know why.

_You should tell her._ About Skystrike, about Tano. She'd been voicing Rebel sympathies; she might understand.

But suggesting that the Rebels weren't all bad was a far cry from committing treason, as he'd now done. Twice.

He'd let those pilots go. He'd met with a Rebel spy and made no attempt to capture her.

He was a traitor.

His father remained oblivious to his turmoil, too wrapped up in his spiel of grand coups and greatness. He turned around to look out over Coruscant again, his back straight, and continued.

"I have been fielding officers whose loyalty is either assured or probable to assign to the _Executor_. Low ranks at first, until their superiors prove themselves incompetent and face their due punishment for it."

Luke didn't quite manage to keep the wince off his face there. He'd given up trying to justify what Vader did to his officers—no man was perfect in everything he did, he had been forced to learn, and certainly not his father—and now he had no excuse for him.

_Executioner._

It was murder, executing someone for a mistake they made. There was no need to turn the military— _the galaxy_ —against them if they didn't have to.

Vader was still talking. "Captain Piett of the _Accuser_ is one such officer. General Veers of Death Squadron will require no reassignment. There are others, of course, and I will provide you both with a list, but those two are the most senior." He tilted his helmet over his shoulder to cast them a wry look. "I trust you know not to allow such a list to fall into anyone's hands but your own?"

The twins just rolled their eyes in response.

Vader kept speaking, his words hard and unyielding in their certainty. Plans; battle formations; Star Destroyers _Imperial-_ and _Venator_ \- and even _Executor_ -class, new and old, in action or still in production; odds calculated and recalculated by a droid who'd promptly had its memory wiped afterwards; potential bases of power, planets with enough resources to sustain an armada and governors who would back Vader, Luke and Leia over Palpatine.

There was so much information, and there was only one thing Luke could think of:

This was real.

This was happening.

His father's plans laid out baldly in front of him, the amount of detail and dedication and destruction in them. . . He'd been planning this for _years_. Pooling his resources, hiding it from them, lying to Palpatine's face. He'd been spinning dozens of plates at once with new allies, old allies, possible allies; now, in fifteen months at _most_ , those plates would come crashing to the floor, they'd pick up the shards and drive one into Palpatine's blackened, shrivelled heart. Perhaps even two, for good measure.

This was _real_.

This was not a vague idea. This was not power play, the kicks and natural progression of dissatisfaction between a master and an apprentice. His father was preparing for a civil war that would dwarf the Rebellion's petty squabbles, on a scale the likes of which hadn't been seen since Vader himself had ended the last one.

Luke had known it was serious. He'd known it would never be the same again. The galaxy's fate had been sealed the moment Palpatine had placed that transmitter in Vader's suit, the moment he'd electrocuted Luke and Leia. . .

The moment Vader had found them on Tatooine.

For better or for worse, the galaxy would shift on its axis within the year, and Luke's family would be at the origin.

And he was terrified.

* * *

Empire Day approached fast. In only a few short weeks they were boarding the _Devastator_ to make the trip to Kuat again, for the first time since they'd quelled the uprising months ago. When they were shown the quarters they'd been assigned for the trip, there was the customary scramble for who got the top bunk bed—Luke lost, which he was very grumpy about—before their comlinks chimed, indicating they needed to be on the bridge as soon as possible.

Considering the comlink went off during their scuffle, it was a few moments before they were collected enough to answer it.

They went to the bridge, as commanded, and Leia had to avoid wrinkling her nose at the dignitaries she was meant to greet there. She could sense the bridge crew's tension in the pits, and she couldn't blame them; having Tarkin, her father, _and_ the Emperor in the general vicinity, ready to snap at them for the slightest mistake, weren't the most desirable working conditions after all.

But nor was having to make small talk with the viper himself.

"Ah, Miss Leia," Tarkin greeted smoothly. "I had hoped I would see you here—I know you had your doubts over what my leadership has made of you and your brother's fine work, and I hope that these displays will assuage them."

Over Tarkin's shoulder, Leia could see Palpatine watching them. He caught her eye and nodded a little, smiling, then turned away.

That meant she could say whatever she wanted, and he would simply be amused.

Alright then.

"I highly doubt that, Tarkin," she said. Her voice was as cold as the depths of hyperspace they now hurtled through. "Your placement of Governor Vilrein—"

" _Director_ Vilrein, now," he corrected. "I kept her on. I recognise her talent for understanding the economics and the science of what Kuat is so famous for, as I know you did, but I feel she was better suited to a more hands-on role than the one you gave her. Handing someone with such negligible political experience so much power over perhaps one of the most vital systems in the Empire seemed. . . unwise."

_I'd consider it wiser to give that power to a woman who served as the previous governor's aide for fifteen years and has the loyalty of over half the workers than to give it to a megalomaniac whose only claim to fame is his brutal massacres during the Clone Wars_ , she wanted to bite back. But she thought Palpatine might object to her going _that_ far.

Tarkin was still a massively influential man, after all.

Besides, what had she expected? The galaxy was _under the control_ of a megalomaniac. Like-minded people thrived.

"And yet I've seen the reports. _Director_ Vilrein has constantly lobbied you for more funding in the previous months. She has explained quite clearly that without it, there is the risk that many of Kuat's projects will not be finished on schedule, and yet you refuse that?" If Vilrein was still governor, she wouldn't _need_ that permission—she could green light it of her own accord. "Instead you funnel it all away to this. . . other project." She couldn't speak of Project Stardust openly like this, but he got her message.

"Miss Leia." He had the gall to place a hand on her shoulder. She glared at him until it was clear that if he kept it there a second longer, it would _not_ be good for his health. He smirked slightly as he retracted it. "I cannot tell you more right now, but I assure you: after this visit, you _will_ understand why this _project_ requires—indeed, deserves—infinitely more attention than anything Kuat could produce. Even your father's precious _Executor_."

She lifted her chin and said coolly, "I very much doubt that, Tarkin. Will _this_ project even be ready on time?"

"It is my estimate—"

"I do not care about your estimates. You are not a scientist. You are a politician pretending to be a scientist. And most of all, you are a man who does not care specifically about what he is doing. _That_ is why you are unfit for this job."

Oh, Palpatine was going to _kill_ her.

She heard a snickering behind him. Quiet, subtle snickering, but the Force allowed her to zero in on the man responsible for it. One of the directors, if she was correct: he wore a white cape and gloves, and held himself with all the rigidity of a man who desperately wanted to be here, but knew intrinsically that he simply did not fit it. He was watching their interaction with a barely restrained delight, eyes fixed on Tarkin.

Anger froze the governor's face; he couldn't do anything meaningful to Leia right here, right now, but she sensed it. She _saw_ it, in the way he bit back in the only way he could: belittlement.

He patted her shoulder, quickly enough that she didn't have time to rip his arm from its socket before it was back at his side again.

"I suppose you must be forgiven for such naive things," he said. "You are only seventeen—you will understand soon enough. You did a good job with the system while it was in your hands, and you had only the best interests at heart"—Leia was going to _murder him_ —"but one cannot be right _all_ the time."

It was a clumsy blow, almost insulting to himself that he would ever have to resort to such a crude, rudimentary jab. But it worked.

She wanted to rip his tongue out of his head. She wanted tear his still-beating heart out of his chest. She wanted to unleash her rage and watch him _shatter_ , like a dropped clay pot: unremarkable and mundane in every way, _in no way unique_ , and now just useless. Now just a warning for the folly of clumsiness, and of _stepping where you shouldn't_.

But she couldn't do that.

Not yet.

So she just smiled. "You are absolutely correct, Governor," she said, sickly sweet. "And I look forward to the day where you realise just how _rarely_ you _are_ right."

She slipped away to find Luke before he could reply.

* * *

Mingling with the favoured servants of the Empire grew tiresome eventually, and Luke was forced to retreat to the sidelines, just watching things play out. His sister's conversation with Tarkin was _very_ amusing.

After a few hours had passed, the dignitaries finally returned to their assigned quarters on the ship, leaving the bridge mostly empty. He could feel the pit crew's relief, and mirrored it with his own; he just wanted to take a break from this.

He'd always known that he despised interacting with the court, and the elite. But now, thoughts of the coup whirling around his mind, he was beginning to realise just how much he _hated_ the upper echelons of the Empire he fought so hard to protect.

Was _this_ who he was protecting?

He let his gaze sweep around the few who were left. Director. . . Krennic—yes, that was his name, listed in associated with the enigmatic _Project Stardust_ —was standing alone at the viewport, staring out at the stars. Luke had no interest in making contact with him, and moved his gaze on: to this governor, that governor, this moff, this commander—

All the while, one thought dogged him:

How many of them would even blink at firing on an unarmed transport?

How many would have the courage to do what so many Rebels had done, and decided that from what they'd seen, the Empire was _wrong_? _They_ were wrong, of course, but with _this lot_ as the bright leaders of the galaxy, who could blame them for thinking that way?

Their coup might need to erase more than just Palpatine. Tarkin they'd always planned on doing away with, out of sheer spite if nothing else, but if the others were just as much a part of the corruption. . .

He sighed. He didn't know.

His attempt to go to Skystrike and _figure out_ all these complicated ideas had backfired on him spectacularly; now he didn't really know anything. He was even more lost than before.

And Tano's words about his mother haunted him.

If she really wanted to know them—if she really _cared_ all that much, enough to risk one of her best spies and Force-users to make conversation with him—then why had they been left on Tatooine?

Luke's memories of the planet were clearer from use, now, and he treasured what he could remember of his aunt and uncle. They'd been good people. They had loved him and Leia. But he also distinctly remembered believing himself an orphan.

Maybe Owen and Beru hadn't known. They probably hadn't; Luke doubted Kenobi, or whoever it was who had taken them to Tatooine, would've wanted to risk them not being accepted because the couple thought there was a danger to themselves. But that still begged the question: Why hadn't their mother let them know she was alive?

Why had she made them grow up like that, until Luke had _jumped_ at the chance to know a man claiming to be his father, and his aunt and uncle had been executed for it?

He didn't know. There was a lot of stuff he didn't know, and he was starting to get a headache from it all.

He had better go to sleep, he decided. The. . . gathering, or whatever this was, had petered out by now, and no one would fault him if he slipped away. If his father did, then he could just whip out the thousand times Luke had covered for _him_ at one gala or another, but he didn't think he _would_ object.

Things were still too delicate between them for _that_.

So he snuck away, moved all of Leia's stuff off the top bunk bed and stole it for himself, and slept until the next day cycle. His sister was not happy with him when she came in, but by that point he was so deeply asleep she didn't have the heart to wake him.

* * *

The few days of the trip _after_ that were spent tailing after his father. It wasn't studying under him in any official capacity—the Emperor still vetoed that, probably in hopes of preventing a coup that was already in the works—but it wasn't like there were any other duties demanding his attention. Nor was there any limit to where he could go on the ship. Leia spent most of the time mingling with the aristocracy in the officers' lounge, doing. . . whatever it was politicians did, but Luke spent that same time on the bridge.

Palpatine implied, in his faux-grandfatherly tone, that he might get bored.

Luke did not get bored.

He observed the pit officers at work, subtly enough that they didn't notice he was observing them. He stood at his father's right hand for hours on end, listening to every report given to him and every response he made. Often, if Vader sensed his confusion, he would calmly explain the reasons for each decision over their bond, until Luke understood.

Sometimes it would take a while for the understanding to click. Even hours, sometimes. They'd both stand at the viewport, both with their hands clasped behind their back, both half-watching the swirls of hyperspace while they commiserated, heads bent slightly together.

But. . . there was an awkwardness, as well. Luke pretended not to notice the way his father answered any and all questions with a zealousness that betrayed his eagerness, just as Vader pretended not to notice the suspicion in Luke's mind, the way that it was closed off to him in a way it never had been before. Luke was far more relaxed around him again by the time Kuat loomed beyond the viewport, but. . . he still didn't _trust_ him. Not the way he had before.

He didn't know if he ever would.

His father had stolen his memories, then lied to him about it for ten years. He doubted he could ever forgive that entirely.

But he enjoyed himself.

He wished Palpatine would let him train under his father properly. This— this was a _dream come true_ for him.

The bridge crew got used to his presence, as well. They even reported to him. Whenever his father was otherwise occupied—in meditation, in conversation with Montferrat, in conversation with _Palpatine_ —they no longer hovered, or interrupted, their fear staining the Force. Oh, they were still _afraid_ of Luke himself, but less so than his father; Luke wasn't sure whether he was flattered or insulted.

He thought of his father's _executions_. He'd witnessed one on this trip: a poor aide had tried to approach him immediately after a conversation with Palpatine that seemed to have plunged him into a bad mood. Probably the yearly diatribe about Luke's mother.

The aide's death had been quick. Luke had looked away as the distinct _thump_ of his body hit the ground.

Vader had sensed his discomfort. _He was reporting his own, unforgivable failure,_ he informed him, disapproval shooting over their bond, though there was something. . . defensive. . . about it.

Luke hadn't flinched. He no longer cared nearly as much about his father's disapproval as he used to. If anything, now his father had to care about _his_.

So he didn't bother answering. He had just turned away to watch the stars shoot past.

His father was not as close to perfection as a military commander— _or any person at all_ —could get. If he was, he wouldn't have hurt Luke so badly—would have _known_ that keeping such a secret risked tearing everything apart.

So he might well be _wrong_ about his casual cruelty, and Luke might well be right.

So he quietly suggested the bridge crew to give Luke their reports and paperwork, and Luke be the messenger to give them to his father. If only because he was one person his father could not and would not hurt.

Vader was. . . amused. . . at this, he knew. Amused, and slightly apprehensive, but he wasn't about to say anything to push him away further.

Luke continued to keep the crew out of his father's rage. _Mercy fosters loyalty_ , he thought. Things settled into a dream-like monotony, a naturalness to it that calmed his doubts somewhat.

Then they arrived on Kuat.

The dream passed.

The planet hung beyond the viewport, and he somehow knew that this small paradise for himself had met its end. It had been a fleeting journey. Here was the destination.

But on the planet—and on the construction facilities in orbit—he still didn't stop mulling over some of the thoughts he'd had while he stood there, staring out at the stars.


	18. Fourth Shadow

Kuat looked much the same as it had when Leia had last arrived here—minus, that is, the explosions. It seemed relatively calm now, the manmade construction ring right the way around the planet buzzing with activity, the cloudy, greenish atmosphere below it undisturbed.

So. Tarkin had managed to prevent any more revolts from breaking out, if nothing else.

They were given the tour of the ring, and the shipyards contained within it; for all that she'd spent a good few weeks here less than a year ago, Leia was glad for the opportunity to reorient herself. She was also glad for the opportunity to judge how well Tarkin had been doing, in his new, additional leadership role.

So far, he seemed to be emulating his beloved Emperor to the next level.

Leia remembered just after Luke left for Skystrike, when she'd gone to visit the central power grid herself in an attempt to inspect its security. She remembered what she'd thought then, of the fear and the crushed spirits and the _desolation_ she'd sensed.

She remembered wondering why these people would ever support them, if all they did was work and starve whether it was under the Republic _or_ the Empire. Abstract, far away concepts like senates and humanitarian trips and _security_ did not matter when you were living ration to ration; they only mattered if they allowed you to live, _happier_ , for one more day.

Vilrein, Leia remembered, had agreed with her on this. She'd won most of the workers' personal loyalty by visibly petitioning Governor Trite for better pay and working conditions. According to the reports she'd sent Leia before Tarkin's politicking, their pay still wouldn't be enough for them to live _easily_ , but they didn't have to worry about starving, or their children starving. It still motivated them to keep their jobs, because it was better pay than they'd get elsewhere in the galaxy for the same amount of labour, but—

Then Tarkin had waltzed in with his thin smiles and budget cuts, and all the credits which _had_ been going into the workers' pockets were mysteriously sent off to _Project Stardust_ instead.

And Leia could see the effects.

The workers had been given hope, had experienced what it was like to be treated well under Vilrein. . . and then Tarkin had ripped it away.

And they were _angry_.

She could sense it as their procession moved down the walkways, overlooking the thousands and thousands of droids, humans, other species toiling away at constructing the behemoth instruments of war. Palpatine had a sickening smile on his face as he watched them be built.

Luke was smiling as well. Leia knew it was because he just really liked ships, and the size and scale of these impressed him, but she elbowed him in the ribs anyway.

"And this," Tarkin said, as if he'd personally overseen everything that was arrayed out before them instead of lounging around on cushy Coruscant like the no-good, lazy bastard he was— "is the crowning achievement of Kuat Drive Yards. The jewel in the sceptre." He waved his hand with a flourish. If it was anyone else—well, perhaps not Palpatine—Leia would have enjoyed the theatrics; instead she just wrinkled her nose. "The _Executor_."

_That_ got her attention. She glanced out of the viewport, and couldn't contain her shock.

Logically, she knew it had to be massive. Star Destroyers in general were massive; they needed to be, to contain all that fire power and all those people.

But the _Executor_. . .

It would be. . . difficult, to say the least, to describe the scene before her. It struck a chord inside her as reminiscent of when she was living on Mustafar: she and Luke were eight or nine, and just starting to learn how to use the Force. Levitation had naturally been the first thing they studied, and she remembered distinctly how her father had handed them credit chip after credit chip, one at a time, and they had made them dart around the room like starfighters.

She remembered, too, a stuffy old book Vader had had in his vast collection of Sith artefacts. She couldn't remember what it was about, but she and Luke had been fascinated by its sheer _size_ : taller than the tip of her middle finger to her elbow, and thicker than her hand span.

She remembered setting herself the challenge to levitate it. When she'd succeeded with that, she'd set herself the challenge to levitate that _and_ her father's credit chips.

_That_ was the image the _Executor_ recalled: tiny, insignificant Star Destroyers hanging above the infinitely larger Super Star Destroyer, like bright credit chips hanging above the biggest book Leia could imagine.

But Star Destroyers weren't the size of credit chips. Once upon a time, they'd been too large for her mind to comprehend as well.

Her moment of stunned silence at the sight had gone unnoticed: most others in the entourage were similarly awed. Luke still _was_ ; she could see his lips moving, muttering to himself—calculations? Statistics? Estimated prowess in battle? She didn't know; she liked ships well enough, but her brother was on a whole other level.

The measured clip of footsteps approaching down the hallway turned her attention to the newcomer.

Tan skin, short hair—the moment she registered who she was, she straightened, instantly alert. Governor— _Director_ —Vilrein nodded at her respectfully as she passed, lips pressed tightly together, but she didn't stop until she was standing directly in front of Tarkin, Vader and Palpatine.

"Governor," she greeted first, with the barest dip of her head. Leia had to stifle a vindictive laugh at the offence in Tarkin's eyes.

Vilrein bowed deeply to Palpatine. "Your Majesty, Lord Vader." She straightened up again, though her gaze was still riveted to the floor. "I am here to answer any questions you may have on the production and capabilities of the SSD _Executor_. I am—"

"I know who you are, Director," Palpatine interrupted with a wave of his hand. Leia saw Vilrein's lips tighten further, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.

_Insult_ , Leia thought, and felt hot and angry on the woman's behalf.

"And I have a _great many questions_ ," he continued, turning back to the viewport. His gaze rested hungrily on the warships beyond. "How soon will Lord Vader be able to transfer his operations to this ship?"

If Vilrein noticed the power play she'd just been dragged into, she didn't let on. She just said calmly, "As soon as Lord Vader wishes, Your Majesty. Production on the _Executor_ is almost entirely complete, despite the. . . hiccups. . . of a few months ago. The past weeks have only been touching up shield quality, performing surface measures and minor repairs—"

"Then I suppose your efforts should be congratulated, Governor Tarkin," Palpatine said. The smug smile both men were wearing made Leia's blood boil. "You've delivered my right hand man the greatest tool he could use in his efforts to keep my galaxy safe, and for that I commend you."

Tarkin, the piece of bantha dung, bowed his head and accepted the compliment like he deserved it. "I seek only to serve my Emperor."

The slight to Vilrein was not unnoticed by the woman herself. Injustice welled up inside her—Leia could sense it, and so could Palpatine—but she allowed none of it to show on her face. It was impressive.

Leia liked her all the more.

"Perhaps, Director"—was Leia imagining it, or did he place a touch of emphasis on her title?—"if the _Executor_ is as ready as you say, we could have a tour of the interior?"

She gave another short bow, clipping her heels together neatly. "Of course, Your Majesty. If you would come this way, and I can get some of the more specialised architects and engineers to explain the finer details of the construction."

"That would be wonderful. Lead the way."

They walked for a while just to get onboard the massive ship; Leia watched it loom closer and closer and thought she had never seen anything so large in her life.

It was another hour into the tour before the responsibility for asking questions fell more onto the engineers than Vilrein herself. The moment she deemed it timely, Leia gestured for Vilrein to drift to the back of the procession, which she did with little resistance.

"My lady," she greeted, softly enough that the words didn't carry. Leia could still pick from her mind a slight. . . not _resentment_ , but confusion and uncertainty in reporting to someone as young as Leia was.

Leia didn't begrudge her it. It was understandable.

She just cut to the chase: "How have things been since Luke and I left?"

Vilrein heard the unspoken question. After all, she _had_ been sending detailed reports about it for months. Leia knew everything official; she wanted to hear the woman's own opinion.

". . .fraught," Vilrein said finally, glancing ahead to ensure no one heard—least of all the construction workers. "You read about the wage cuts—"

"I did."

"He wouldn't listen to my advice on what the reactions would be." She tactfully didn't name Tarkin aloud, but Leia knew what she meant. "When you left, we were back on schedule with a reasonable confidence. Now, we've risked overexerting ourselves in order to get this done, because his methods can be. . . different to what we're used to."

_This_ was why Leia hated the process of politicking between the governors and the moffs. The galaxy was so full of species, cultures, ways of life; having such a large sector of space be wrestled over by one or two politicians, with the victory going only to the one with the most power. . . The winner didn't _fit_. They would impose their word on the system, but if the system wasn't expecting something similar, there would be a long period of unrest.

Speaking of which. . . "And the perpetrators of the last incident?"

"They were dealt with. All investigations back up what your brother discovered from the Velts, and we haven't had a further hint of Gerrera's Partisans anywhere around here."

Leia nodded, glad but still wary. They hadn't had a hint _yet_.

But the winner didn't fit. So matter how much Tarkin tightened his grip, the more things would start to slip through his fingers. Such a large, diverse area as his territory could never be governed by one man. . .

. . .the way the entire galaxy was governed by the Empire?

One way of life. One idea. That was the point of the Empire—that was why that curator on Naboo had been murdered for going against it, why Leia sometimes forgot there were colours other than black, red and grey.

She shook her head, and conveyed to Vilrein that she was finished with a slight nod of her head, then turned her attention back to the massive ship they were walking through. She had a lot to think about.

The tour lasted another few hours, and by that point Leia—and Luke; she could feel it through their bond, which only made it worse—was exhausted. She really needed to go to sleep.

When she returned to their room on the _Devastator_ , she crashed onto the bed without hesitation, not even bothering to contest the fact that Luke was _still_ in the top bunk. Her brother was off somewhere on the ship, probably gushing over the _Executor_ while their father looked on fondly, but she didn't care enough to check right now. She just lay in her bed, eyes drifting shut. . .

But she couldn't sleep.

Thoughts— _doubts_ —were ringing in her mind. She didn't think they'd _stopped_ ringing since she'd first plugged Tsabin's datachip into her pad, and opened it.

_Sabé_. . .

Too tired to listen to common sense, she rolled over, pulled her comlink off the small table that jutted out from the wall, and commed her.

Why? She didn't know. Maybe she was just sick of all these doubts plaguing her day and night, and needed to talk to someone. She couldn't talk to her father, that was for sure, and the last time she'd voiced such an idea with Luke he'd fled halfway across the galaxy.

Sabé's voice was scrambled, as it always was, but she recognised the inflections in, _"Leia?"_

"Yes." A beat of awkward silence, then before Sabé could ask for a rational explanation when none were forthcoming— "You didn't answer my question last time."

_"About the governors?"_

"Yes."

Calm, measured quiet. _"Well, we didn't have governors in the Republic—"_

"Then who was in control? How did you get them to agree? What measures prevented them from gaining too much power?"

_". . .did something happen on Kuat?"_

Leia scowled. "Are you keeping tabs on me?"

_"I don't mean to insult you by saying no, but no. Not in a military sense."_ Leia opened her mouth to ask what the _hell_ that meant— _"But we_ are _keeping tabs on your father. And everyone knows the major Empire Day celebrations are going to be on Kuat this year, for the unveiling of the_ Executor _."_

_And Project Stardust_ , Leia thought, but that would only be to the military. And it would be a _fundamentally_ bad idea to talk about that with a Rebel.

_"And we heard about your stint on Kuat a few months ago."_

Leia scowled fiercely, for all that the connection was voice only, and Sabé didn't have a clue what she looked like. "Are you gonna call me a monster for that?"

_"On the contrary. There was death, yes, but far more on Saw's part than your own. And the temporary changes instituted by yourselves and Governor Vilrein actually made Rebel recruitment more difficult in that sector for quite some time."_

Leia wondered whether Sabé should be telling her this.

"'Quite some time'," she drawled instead.

_"Indeed. I assume you heard about Tarkin."_

"Uh huh. So how _did_ you avoid one person accumulating too much power in the Republic?"

Sabé said dryly, _"Well, one could say we didn't, in the end." That's our entire problem. "But otherwise, there_ were _checks in place. Term limits. Other senators you had to convince."_ There was something like a sigh, then she muttered, _"The were_ always _other senators to convince. . ."_

Leia laughed. "I suppose."

_"It meant there were always new people coming in,"_ Sabé added. _"New ideas, new perspectives—it's impossible to represent every interest of every species and every culture, but we did our best. Your Empire doesn't even try."_

_That_ took a turn. Leia's hand squeezed the comlink almost unconsciously; next to her, the table rattled where it stood. "Simply because we don't waste time indulging in idealism—"

_"So you don't think people deserve to forge their own fates."_

The reply was out before she could take it back. "If they could agree, there wouldn't be a problem."

_"People_ don't _agree. Even in the Empire, as I'm sure you've noticed."_

Leia couldn't argue with that. Especially with her family as. . . divided. . . as it was.

_"That doesn't mean they don't deserve basic liberties, or_ rights _. They still deserve to be free of fear."_

"And I support that! But I am _not_ an idealist."

_"Leia,"_ Sabé's voice was oddly sombre, _"has anyone everyone told you that you're not responsible for solving every galactic crisis?"_

The words punched her in the gut.

They wounded and liberated her in equal measures.

She _didn't_ have to stick her neck out and fix every inconsistency. She didn't have to worry about everything like it was a personal attack. She didn't have to take everything onto her shoulders—even going so far as to not tell her brother about it, in recent times.

She was not that important. Not yet.

She couldn't decide whether that was good or bad.

"When I'm Empress," she said grimly, "I _will be_."

* * *

Leia probably thought he was badgering anyone and everyone for more information about the myriad of ships they'd seen today. She was wrong.

Luke didn't move to correct her assumption.

He _had_ thoroughly enjoyed looking at all the ships. The _Executor_ was a groundbreaking new ship, the largest yet, and was already giving rise to an entirely new class of Star Destroyers named for it. He was proud that that might soon be his father's flagship, that his father might officially teach him to command something like it one day—wasn't he?—but. . .

He'd been distracted all day.

He'd been distracted for days.

Tano's words still haunted him. They had been hard enough to dismiss on Coruscant, while they were living _in Padmé Amidala's apartment_ ; it was impossible to dismiss the spectre that, Luke was beginning to realise, had hung over his life for the last ten years—longer.

He had listened to his aunt and uncle's worried whispers in the dead of night, even before his father had come.

And now they'd come to Kuat, and Luke was thinking.

The last time they'd been here, they'd been sent to crush an uprising; they'd been sent looking for signs of Amidala, and found only Gerrera's work instead.

Now they'd come looking for nothing at all, and he saw too much.

How many of the people surrounding him today—officers, governors, _Imperials_ —would fire on an unarmed transport?

It was against Imperial protocol, but. . . how many people actually followed that? How many people _wouldn't_ fire on an unarmed transport, if it was them giving the orders, them pulling the trigger?

Tarkin would.

Palpatine, without a doubt, would.

His father—

Luke swallowed harshly at the thought, _executioner_ , but. . .

His father would.

Would _he_?

No. He'd proved that at Skystrike.

Would Leia?

No. He knew that.

So they could change it, he decided. They would continue with their coup, remove Palpatine, and once they were the most powerful people in the galaxy they would be in a position to change things.

_If they could. . ._

He crushed the doubts down. They _would_. As much as his father and sister were pragmatists through and through, Luke had to hold onto some modicum of positivity. Otherwise, what was the point?

But his decision and resolve didn't stop him from thinking about Amidala.

From thinking about his _mother_.

So even as he sensed his sister toss and turn, trying desperately to scrape some sleep into her poor mind, he slipped into a room down the corridor that he could sense wasn't being monitored. Well, it was a storage cupboard, so it made sense it wasn't being monitored, but Luke still swept through it with the Force to check for any bugs.

There were none.

He still couldn't relax the tension from his muscles as he settled cross-legged onto the floor, despite the reassurance. Perhaps because surveillance wasn't _actually_ what he was worried about.

Tano picked up her comlink fairly quickly, considering he had no idea where she was, what time it was, or whether or not she'd been busy. Perhaps she was just that dedicated to converting him. _"Hello?"_

"Tano," he greeted, a little stiffly, suddenly unsure what to say.

She laughed. _"Hey, Sky—"_ She cut herself off midway, like there was something else she wanted to say. _"—walker. Have you thought about what I said?"_

"Yes." _Non-stop._

_"Come to any decisions?"_

He gritted his teeth. "Yes." He didn't elaborate.

The only image on this call wasn't of Tano's face, but of a symbol: two lines with indents in the middle, and two corresponding diamonds. Luke assumed it was a Rebel code of some sort, but he had no idea what it could mean.

_"And what did you decide?"_ Even through the encryption on her voice, Luke could hear the hope.

Luke didn't answer her. Instead he asked, "Why did my mother dump me on Tatooine?"

Tano went quiet for a moment. _"I assume it was to protect you from your father and the Emperor."_

"From my _father_?" Luke scoffed. "He—"

_"Stole your memories, taught you to be subservient to Palpatine, stood by as the Emperor electrocuted you?"_

"— _loves me_."

An awkward pause, though Luke didn't miss the fact that Tano had known about the torture. Clearly they had spies in the Palace. He'd have to deal with that, he thought numbly.

_"And you think that your mother doesn't?"_

Luke let out a ragged laugh, and tilted his head back. The cupboard's shelves dug into his back uncomfortably. "I think that her Rebellion was more important to her than me and Leia, yes."

_"And your father cares more about you than the Empire?"_ There was scepticism in her voice, and it just annoyed Luke further.

"Yes," he snapped. That was one thing he was certain of, if nothing else. "He does."

_"Impossible,"_ she said confidently. He wasn't sure if she genuinely believed it, or if she was just trying to get a rise out of him. _"He's not Anakin. He_ killed _Anakin; he said it to my face. He wouldn't claim Anakin's children. Not out of love."_

"You're wrong. Clearly you don't know as much about him as you thought."

Tano hesitated, then backtracked. _"Even so, I know your mother lived with you for a year or so, when you were very young. But by then, B— her friend,"_ Luke considered telling her that they already suspected Bail Organa was a Rebel, _"had already started on trying to formulate at least small scale resistance—they'd already recruited me—and she couldn't stay out of it. She was Padmé Amidala, the staunchest defender of democracy that galaxy has ever seen. She couldn't sit in a desert and watch the galaxy burn."_

He didn't say anything. Tano reiterated, gently but forcefully, _"She always intended to come back—"_

"And then she did," he finished bitterly, "and we were gone."

_". . .yes."_

Luke's finger hovered over the button to disconnect the call, but he had to ask— "Do you think she regrets it?"

_"The Rebellion?"_ A pause, then, with all the finality of a death knell— _"No."_

"Alright."

_"But—"_

He hit the button, and the blue image vanished.

* * *

Thousands of parsecs away, Ahsoka grimaced—both at the abrupt cut off and the sheer _hurt_ that had been loaded into that last word.

"But," she finished quietly to herself, the warmth of Dantooine's sunrise starting to seep into the back of her head, "she regrets not taking you with her."


	19. Empire Day

With Leia's newfound memories, she knew that when she'd lived on Tatooine, there had been time where she'd woken up on her birthday and made it all the way into the kitchen before she saw the two small piles of presents on the table, and remembered.

She'd done that occasionally on Mustafar as well, she knew, but it had been rarer. Her father had trained them both so thoroughly with the Force that she never failed to wake up and notice his overwhelming presence wasn't there—gone as of a few days beforehand, ordered by an Emperor she'd never met to attend him and his _Empire Day_ instead of his children on their birthday.

But ever since she'd first arrived on Coruscant, it was _impossible_ to forget.

The alarm woke her up early, as it always did; she groaned, as she always did. The first thing she was aware of was Luke, shifting in the bed above her. Then she focused, and everything made sense.

Kuat. Empire Day. Eighteenth birthday.

She pulled a face that was half-grin, half-grimace. Well, at least she was legally an adult now.

And after they'd attended the obligatory speech Palpatine would make at the official unveiling of the _Executor_ , and then sat through an hour or two of a banquet, they'd have the entire evening to themselves. Their father always gave them presents.

But, in truth, Leia disliked Empire Day.

She didn't hate it. It was, after all, her birthday, and the day the Empire she served had been founded. But she disliked it, if only because of the pain she knew it brought her father.

Her mother had died on this day—

Except no.

She _hadn't_.

And, reaching out to find her father, the indigo storm of grief and rage he always was today, she had the overwhelming urge to tell him.

She didn't.

Instead, she drew back into herself, and got dressed.

* * *

If there was one thing Luke hated about Empire Day the most, it was the speeches.

He was not a politician. He couldn't sit through hours and hours of one or two people talking and saying essentially the same thing—or nothing at all. He'd sat in enough lessons alongside Leia to know what they were talking about, and why, but he had never been taught to her level for a _reason_. He hated this.

Palpatine's speech was something about how the Empire was now an adult. He was discussing all the _great_ _beings_ who'd helped him to raise it to maturity—with an honorary jab at the _lovely Padmé Amidala, whose name is being vilified by terrorists_ —but to be entirely honest, Luke had stopped listening in the seventeenth minute.

He amused himself instead by seeing how many politicians he could torment. Using the Force to give them slight headaches, or itches, or the urge to sneeze, then watching their faces contort as they tried not to interrupt the speech, was _vastly_ entertaining.

Leia gave him a look at one point, but when he grinned at her, she grinned back.

The unveiling of the _Executor_ caught his attention as well, but only because she was still a magnificent ship. Her _representation of a new direction and capability in their adult Empire_ didn't matter to him at all.

What seemed like an eternity later, they finally started the banquet. It was still awkward—Luke was wedged between his father and his sister, and _his father couldn't eat_ —but at least he could talk to Leia. She always made wickedly accurate jibes about politicians.

Of course, Palpatine was on his father's left, and could probably hear every word, but he seemed more amused than anything.

So the banquet passed quickly enough as well. Luke had just excused himself to visit the refresher shortly before dessert, when he met someone in the corridor.

She was waiting for him, that much was clear. She was there when he exited the refresher, leaning against the wall in a position that would have looked casual, had she not been so stiff.

Her helmet hissed open when he stopped, surprised.

"J— Sixth Sister," he said.

She nodded. She didn't greet him back—calling him _Luke_ seemed too intimate, and there was no other name she knew of to call him—but she surprised him anyway. "I wanted to thank you."

The words were stiff as well. Luke wasn't surprised at that. It was the only thing he wasn't baffled at.

"Thank me?" he asked, confused.

Jade nodded. "Palpatine put Thrawn on Amidala's case instead Phoenix Squadron's," she said, "on your suggestion. He's started the hunt, and we've started to turn in results. We've hunted their base down, and we're confident that we'll find it within a few weeks, thanks to your information. So thank you."

Luke wondered when she had ever been taught to thank anyone. Perhaps, in his attempt to seem like someone she could trust somewhat, he'd overshot it a bit.

Maybe she thought they were allies. If not. . . friends.

Luke didn't find the idea all that appalling. Almost appealing, in fact. He was well aware that he knew no one his age except Leia, and perhaps it might be. . . beneficial.

His father would disagree, but he and his father disagreed on a lot of things, nowadays.

So Luke just smiled slightly, and started walking back to the banquet. "You're welcome."

* * *

The banquet went slowly for Leia, but eventually it was over with. For a moment, it looked like Palpatine was going to make them stay for the after-speech (and the speech after that, and the speech after that) but in the end, Luke and Leia were allowed to leave, and only their father had to stay.

After all, the after-speech was the one that would get broadcast to the entire galaxy. And while Vader was the Emperor's right hand, the symbol of security and strength for the Empire, his visage respected and feared in equal measures. . . Luke and Leia's faces were not supposed to be such public knowledge.

It was the reason there hadn't been a public announcement beyond a quiet introduction to court for them; no one outside of the Empire's elite—no one _unimportant_ —could be expected to know that Leia was the heir, or that they were both already respected as Imperial agents. Their father said it was to avoid assassination attempts, _especially_ after the one when they were ten years old. The court gossip had been bad, and some trigger-happy Rebels had decided to take out any future Sith Lords before they did any damage.

They had failed, and their allies had suffered for it.

Logically, it made sense. But with everything she knew now, Leia couldn't help but theorise if there was another reason: if their father hadn't wanted anyone who had been implicit in their _kidnapping_ to have any sort of access to them.

Leia couldn't blame him for that. She just blamed him for not telling her the truth.

And she blamed him for nightmares of the cries of her aunt and uncle as he cut through them like crops.

So she felt no guilt whatsoever about linking arms with Luke and fleeing the _Executor_ , leaving him to the mercy of the politicians.

* * *

He summoned them to his quarters on the _Devastator_ a few hours later, his begrudging amusement clear through the Force. And even _that_ was minimal: he was, above all else, excited. It was their birthday.

There was sadness—there was always sadness, on this day—but he was pushing it aside.

"How was the speech, Father?" Luke asked sweetly. His hyperbaric chamber was open; he ducked inside, and grinned at his unmasked face.

Vader rolled his eyes. Funny—now that Luke had seen the holos of Anakin Skywalker before the suit, he could genuinely see the resemblance, and not just because of the scar over his right eye.

"Insufferable, as always," Vader said as Leia entered, and the pod sealed behind her. "We should remove him just so I never have to sit through another speech like that again."

"I'll be sure to be more succinct about it, don't worry." Leia smiled, but it lacked that wicked edge she sported so often. She was, after all, seventeen— _eighteen_ , now. She still had a certain childishness to her.

Vader grumbled, "See that you do," but moved on quickly. He didn't want to talk about Palpatine.

He handed them both a soft, flexible package. "Here."

Luke raised an eyebrow at his present. "Wow, I wonder what it is."

"I maintain the hope that you will _actually_ _wear_ _them_ , someday."

" _Fine_ , Father," Leia capitulated. She'd already ripped hers open, and swung the indigo cape round her shoulders. Luke had to admit, it looked nice. The silver embroidery was subtle, but stylish, and one could never tell just by looking at it that it _was_ armorweave, fireproof, and all the other things his father's capes were. "We'll wear them at this fancy unveiling of _Project Stardust_ tomorrow."

Luke nodded his agreement absently, taking more time to study his. The fabric was heavy, but it was a comfortable weight; he took a moment to study the embroidery.

Silver threads picked out against an indigo background. He frowned, studying the pattern of pinpricks carefully. It almost looked like. . .

"The Naboo and Tatooine systems," he said aloud.

His father nodded, almost sheepishly— _self-conscious_. His uncertainty was obvious on his face, without the mask. "Your mother's homeworld," he admitted, "and yours."

Well. At least he was being honest about it now.

Luke shook the thought away—it was uncharacteristically, not to mention _worryingly_ , bitter—and shrugged the cape on himself, as Leia had. It took him a moment to fiddle with the silver chain at his neck, but once he'd done it the cape settled into place.

He really should wear his father's capes more often. They were, despite everything he'd ever said about them, very comfortable.

"You look dashing," Leia drawled.

He affected a small bow. "As do you, darling sister."

His father said smugly, "That is only the first part of your gift."

They turned to him in unison. "Oh?"

"You have both expressed interested in Grand Admiral Thrawn's TIE Defender program," he said, nodding at Luke, "and you gained yourself a respectful ally in Thrawn when you recommended him to Palpatine. His program is based on Lothal, but he has a few prototypes here for a demonstration to the Empire, and he has agreed that you may take them for a test run."

Luke was frozen. He exchanged a look with Leia, twin grins growing on their faces. "When?"

His father smiled softly, then summoned his mask to hand and put it on. "Now."

* * *

Grand Admiral Thrawn's TIE Defender program was unique in more ways than one. One only had to glance at the fighter to spot the first, and the others were obvious the moment one stepped inside the cockpit.

Mainly because it was as cramped as the inside of Palpatine's bank account.

Leia didn't care.

She knew that the general belief among the elite was that her brother and father were the military types; _she_ turned her formidable Sith magic, supposedly, to terrorising the court, Senate, and any unfortunate officers who had to deal with her.

As was so common when it came to the demon twins, the general belief was wrong.

She had a head for military matters the same way Luke had a head for politics: when it was necessary. The fact that their respective educations had diverged didn't mean they hadn't once run side-by-side—and it didn't mean that each one's knowledge of the other's area wasn't intense, detailed and, above all, _thorough_.

Leia loved ships. She was a fantastic pilot. Always had been.

She suspected what she remembered from Tatooine—particularly its inherently stifling nature—might have had something to do with it.

Leia loved ships. And she _especially_ loved Thrawn's TIE Defender.

It looked. . . not ungainly; unpleasant. But unpleasant in the way that a sando aqua monster looked unpleasant: its many limbs seemed inelegant until they killed, and then they became something like fascinating to watch.

The Defender's killer limbs were three: three jagged panels instead of the usual two, twisted and warped into vicious triangles. They were further away from the body of the fighter as well, the cockpit a single glaring eye amidst the. . . claws.

Leia decided to give it a rest with the monster imagery. It might give her nightmares.

But being inside it, feeling all of that monstrous power and speed at her fingertips and _using it_ , shooting out of the hangar on her brother's tail, firing a salvo of shots into empty space and watching the lime starbursts briefly outshine the stars themselves. . .

_"You coming or what?"_

The comms crackled and she grinned to herself, watching Luke's Defender shoot forward on her left and set off his own celebratory fireworks.

"Happy Birthday, idiot," she said fondly. Though she couldn't see his face, she felt him smiling.

_"Happy Birthday to you too,"_ he drawled in reply, looping back round behind her. Her fighter rocked as something collided with her shields. _"Watch your back."_

"I thought that was your job, you traitor," she groused—then froze.

He'd been shocked to silence as well, a deep. . . _discomfort_ radiating across the comms—

_"Power has been bled from your lasers."_

Her father's amused bass tone interrupted the moment. He didn't seem to have picked up on the tension—or maybe he interpreted it as one of the many inside jokes he'd never understand. He just saw their antics.

_"So I can shoot at Leia without worrying about sororicide?"_ Her Defender rocked again; she seized the controls and rolled away from his fire, the Force blaring around her. A part of her—hell, all of her—delighted in the speed and smoothness of the movement. _"Great."_

"You'll have to catch me first."

_"I thought I just did."_

She gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached, then bared them in a grin. "Not again you won't."

She shot forward, Luke hot on her heels.

She could sense her father following as well, but he wasn't participating in the play-dogfight just yet; they knew he'd wipe them both away within minutes.

Perhaps later they'd team up against him. Fly as wing mates, feel their minds merge together as one in a way they hadn't in far, far too long. But not now.

Now, keeping her mind connected to the Force but separate from her brother's was the only way she was going to _win_ this.

* * *

They shot right the way around the dozens of construction sites on and near the planet. _This_ was the way to view the wonders the Empire's greatest supplier held: firsthand, passing by, under and through the massive skeletons being constructed, inside one of the wonders themselves.

Though, Luke supposed, the Defender wasn't Kuat's achievement. It was Lothal's; he knew Pryce and Thrawn had worked _very_ hard to keep Phoenix Squadron and the Spectres from learning of and ending such a lucrative, successful project.

Despite himself, he started thinking of Jade, of her forays into hunting them. Of his father, who'd failed— _failed_ —so utterly on Malachor, and the showdown there.

Of Sabine Wren. Of Biggs, Wedge and Hobbie, who'd undoubtedly found their place in Phoenix Squadron itself.

Leia's shots splashed against his shields. He banked hard to the left, and dispelled his thoughts.

"We're coming up on the _Chimaera_ ," he said aloud. Thrawn's flagship was just visible beyond the skeletal Star Destroyer they were passing in construction.

Leia's voice had a grin in it—they could both sense that alien mind, intense with clarity, observing them from the _Chimaera_ 's bridge.

_"Well then,"_ she said. _"We'd better show him just how good his prototype starfighters are, hadn't we?"_

Luke made to corkscrew and fire on her in response, but a nudge from the Force had him keep rolling. Bright bolts sailed just past him, sizzling his shields. In his peripheral vision, he saw Leia dive as well.

His father swooped in, his Defender's three wings like the clawed hand-shape he made when choking someone. Luke and Leia scattered.

He instinctively reached for his sister, their minds entwining. Plans, manoeuvres, back up plans flashed up and were instantly dismissed or ratified; their flight patterns switched from combatant to wingmen in an instant; they turned to face their father, grins tugging at their lips and exhilaration coursing through their veins.

Thrawn's satisfaction in the performance of the fighters couldn't hope to outstrip their own.


	20. Shatterpoint Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE HERE.

The official unveiling for Project Stardust struck Luke as odd in multiple ways.

Firstly, it was scheduled for the day after Empire Day, yet it was subject to all sorts of secrecy. Only moffs, governors, trusted senators, the most respected admirals and other such favoured beings were allowed to attend. Luke and Leia, though still elated from their flight the previous night, shared a grimace when Vader mentioned they'd have to be on their best behaviour.

There was nothing Luke hated more than stuffy dignitaries. Even Rebels.

Especially not now, but he didn't want to think about that. _Especially_ if he was in the same room as the Emperor.

The other reasons everything seemed off were extrapolated from the first. It was only the day after Empire Day; the festivities should barely be dying down. On Coruscant they were no doubt just as vehement. Why, therefore, would any demonstrations _not_ be made to the masses?

Luke knew why.

Because the demonstration was military, something the censorship departments would never let the common citizens know about. And if it was important enough to occupy a space in the Empire Day presentations, then that meant it was something Palpatine had a _personal_ interest in.

He'd tried to ask his father what Project Stardust was, before the event. Vader's mood had soured, he'd muttered, "An abomination," and that was all he would say on the matter.

So Luke knew nothing about what he was getting into when Mas Amedda ushered him and Leia onto the bridge of the _Devastator_. All the blast shields were down in this part of the ship, the viewports blocked; it made Luke oddly relieved to be able to see the stars again. They'd gone to unbelievable lengths to keep whatever this was a secret—the _Devastator_ had even completed a short hyperspace jump to a nearby system to stay away from all the eyes watching Kuat—and none of it was helping Luke's nerves.

He felt _cold_.

He milled about the bridge like everyone else, waiting for Palpatine to arrive.

It wasn't long before he spotted a middle-aged man in a dark suit standing near the viewport, staring out at the stars with an unusual amount of wistfulness. Luke wasn't the only one watching him: a vaguely familiar man of the same age, wearing a white suit and cape, had his eyes fixed on him as well. Luke surveyed the man in white, trying to remember his name.

He had to admire his cape, if nothing else. It was wide and flared out in the same way all of Luke's did—he and Luke's father clearly had similar taste.

Luke rubbed the fabric of his own cape mournfully. He'd never admit it to his father, but he _did_ genuinely like this new one he'd received for his birthday.

Krennic! That was the man's name.

Luke turned his gaze back to the first man.

He was standing by the viewport still, not quite in his father's favoured spot, but fairly close. The stars were bright beyond it in their dust clouds of blue and violet, but Luke got the feeling they weren't what the man was seeing.

He probed him gently with the Force. The only emotion he could feel was _dread_.

Interesting.

He stepped forward, making sure his approach was silent. The man jumped when he finally noticed Luke beside him.

"What a beautiful view," Luke said amiably, still paying close attention to the man's emotions. Though there was confusion there—many people got confused when they saw such a young Imperial—he was tense. And Luke's presence was only making him tenser.

Good. Maybe then he'd actually get some answers.

"I can't stop looking at it," came the reply. It wasn't a lie, but it _was_ an evasion. Luke got the sense that this was a man who wasn't very good at outright lying.

Well. If he didn't want to lie, there was no harm in asking him directly.

"I don't suppose you know what this demonstration is of?" Luke didn't want to just rip it from his mind—that could get messy, especially if he turned out not to know anything.

"I— I have an idea," his eyes darted across Luke's stiff, black, military-cut clothing, and when he found no rank plate he settled for, "sir. But I wouldn't want to share it, for fear of being wrong."

Luke had been right. He was a terrible liar.

Luke, on the other hand, was not. "No harm in sharing it. There's no judgement here."

The man's gaze snapped to his, to the cape around his shoulders, and he heard one thought zip through his mind.

Luke's smile sharpened into something a little too eager, a little too forward. Well. If the man thought he was just the son of one of the dignitaries, here to try to establish a niche at court, that _that_ was the only reason someone so young would be serving the Empire, then it would just be remiss of Luke not to take advantage of that, wouldn't it?

Accusations of nepotism had stalked Luke since he'd first picked up a lightsaber in the Empire's name. The accusers had generally shut up after the first death threat, but there had always been more and he expected there always would be. It didn't matter. He'd rise above them every time.

He held out his hand, that too-sharp smile still on his face, and said, "I'm Luke Skywalker."

He hadn't talked to his father about officially taking on that name again; frankly, his father had no say in the matter. He'd eschewed any say, first when he'd renounced the name, and second when he'd forced Luke and Leia to do so as well.

But they hadn't even told Palpatine that they knew, yet, and perhaps through the grapevine wasn't the wisest way for him to find out. Whether or not he already suspected, as Leia had said.

Luke toyed with the idea of taking it back, erasing it from the man's mind. Then he decided he didn't care. Leia would understand, and she was the only one whose opinion he cared about, anymore.

This was his name. His father, Palpatine, _the whole kriffing galaxy_ could deal with it.

The man took his hand warily, but he clearly didn't recognise the name as someone important—which was half the reason Luke had given it. "Galen Erso."

The name triangulated with "Orson Krennic" and "Project Stardust" to spit out: scientist. He remembered now. Krennic had been elevated to his current position on the project years and years ago, after managing to secure the genius scientist considered perhaps the only person who could pull of such a marvellous feat of engineering. What that marvellous feat of engineering was, Luke had no idea, but that was what he was here to find out.

One thing was clear, though: Galen Erso knew _exactly_ what they were about to see.

Luke took a breath and pulled the Force close, ready to probe again both verbally and metaphysically—

He sensed that oily presence approach just before the doors to the bridge hissed open.

He immediately threw himself to one knee, everyone else on the bridge following suit.

He fixed his father's and sister's positions in his mind. They were kneeling as well; Leia gave him a terse nod before they all bowed their heads, and the Emperor entered.

The _tap_ of his cane against the floor, the rasp of Vader's respirator, filled the silence.

* * *

Leia nodded at Luke, trying to reassure him despite her own misgivings about the situation. It was clear something big was going on, something _important_ , and she couldn't even begin to unpick the knot of anticipation, nervousness and _dread_ in her stomach. But she wanted to comfort her brother, so she held his gaze until she felt his probe retract, his spirit settle. Only then did she bow her head.

She was one of the last people to do so, but who was going to punish her for it?

Palpatine limped into the room, the cane Leia knew full well he did not need clacking against the floor. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She was aware her impatience was showing, but she wanted to know what was going on _now_ ; she couldn't be expected to sit through all this ceremony.

Palpatine _must_ be expecting her reaction. He'd all but dangled the fact that there was something important going on she didn't know about in front of her, and he thought she wouldn't swipe at it? This was _her_ future court. She should be aware of all the major ins and outs of it.

Finally, after an agonisingly long time, he stopped at the front of the bridge, close enough to where Luke and the man he'd been terrorising that his dark cloak swept over her brother's toe. Luke discreetly shuffled back.

Leia couldn't help but take slight offence that the Emperor was standing in her father's favourite spot.

The cane rapped once on the floor. The sound was stark against the silence; it took everything in Leia not to flinch back on sheer instinct.

"Stand, favoured citizens of the Empire," Palpatine began. His voice was quiet, but it carried, and Leia didn't miss how he managed to make _citizens_ sound like _servants_. "You are here today because you have been deemed some of the finest minds in the galaxy. Your efforts have maintained security the likes of which was never seen in the Old Republic, whether they serve in the Senate"—only someone who knew him could hear the disgust in his voice as he said the word—"in the military, or anywhere else. And because of your service, you have been chosen to be the first to witness the power that will help shape the galaxy for generations, and will form the basis of the Empire in the years to come.

"This project is extremely dear to my heart," he continued, "and I have invested much of my time and attention into it for the last twenty years, and will continue to for the year it has left until completion. If that means other areas of my Empire have suffered, then that is my greatest regret, but in a moment you will understand as clearly as I do that it has been a necessary evil. All these years, all this work, it has been worth it, for the peace this _Project Stardust_ will bring."

Leia still hated his guts, but she was hooked on what he was saying, now. What was he even suggesting. . .?

"I give you an end to this war that dogs us so persistently." His voice rose will every word. "I give you an end to petty rebellions by weak-minded fools who draw our attention away from the real problems in the galaxy. I give you the means by which the Empire, and all of us, shall reign supreme, as it was meant to be."

Leia shifted where she stood, something cold clawing up her spine. Such arguments sounded megalomaniacal, coming from Palpatine's mouth, but that wasn't what made her uncomfortable: what made her uncomfortable was that _she'd believed it_.

For so long, she'd believed it.

She was Leia, and that was all she'd ever needed to be. She was the daughter of Darth Vader, sister to Luke, and heir to the galaxy. She _was_ the heir to the galaxy; that was everything she knew. It was where she was meant to be.

Except it wasn't.

She was Leia Skywalker, a farm girl from a backwater planet. The daughter of a senator and a Sith Lord, true, but what had she ever done to deserve the galaxy? What made her so much better than anyone else, when she was only now starting to understand how fundamentally flawed her perception of her reality had been?

She'd told Luke that they were better than the Inquisitors. He'd replied that he wasn't so sure.

She understood what he meant, now.

"I give you," Palpatine finished, gesturing to the space beyond the viewport with one, black-robed hand, "the Death Star."

Leia sensed it before she saw it: a massive, _massive_ object emerging from hyperspace directly before them, the hundreds of thousands of workers aboard it each bright spots in the Force. She took a half-step forward, _staring_ ; a distant part of her registered that her brother had taken a step forward at the same time.

It was the size of a small moon.

That was the first thing Leia's shocked mind processed: it was a space station, a _battle station_ , the size of a small moon. It was spherical, with a ridge running around it more or less at the equator. Kuat's sun caressed its surface: a hard, bright corona of light engulfed it as it turned, then a focusing dish revealed itself amidst that light, gleaming just as brightly.

A _focusing dish_?

What—

Palpatine answered her question before she even knew what she was going to ask. "This battle station has the greatest amount of firepower of anything we have ever produced. More than the entire star fleet combined. No system will dare support these terrorists now. . ."

Leia held her breath, sure the other shoe was going to drop—

". . .for fear of their planet's total annihilation."

—and it did.

Palpatine half-turned back to face his monstrosity, his arms cast out before him like he was praying to some destructive deity. " _This_ is the power our Empire wields, my friends," he intoned. " _We_ reign supreme in this galaxy. Each planet must accept that, and bow in their rightful place."

_Or they will be destroyed._

_Total annihilation._

The words, unspoken and spoken alike, mixed and muddled in Leia's shocked mind. She heard nothing but silence for long, long moments save for the hammering of her own heart, the rasp of her own breathing.

Then the applause came.

It sickened her to her core, even as she participated on instinct. Instinct: that was the only thing that kept her from betraying her sheer _disgust_ at all this Empire was; that, and years of practise. Her horror remained locked behind shields, even from Luke, though it was no less potent for it.

Palpatine had built a machine to destroy life.

It was a blight upon the Force. It was. . . well, _disgusting_. It was. . .

. . .exactly the sort of thing he would do.

The bridge was a cacophony of noise. She stood there among dozens of the highest-ranking, most trusted Imperials in the Empire she served, and she'd never felt so out of place. Because—social expectations upon them or not—they _supported_ this. She could sense it through the Force.

A project like this had to have been funded by rich people, the wealthiest in the galaxy; it had to have been worked on by the brightest minds there were; it had to have been helmed by the greatest organisers, the most effective planners, in order to get to completion. It had to have been a mammoth undertaking. . .

. . .and enough people were so _ambitious_ , so _arrogant_ , so _avaricious_ that _it had worked._

Leia had thought she could root out the corruption in the Empire. After the coup, once she was Empress. But who could root out all of _this_?

Every person who'd funded this?

Every person who'd supported it?

And what about every person who'd ever suspected its existence, or seen something suspicious, and just. . . turned away, let themselves wallow in their own self-righteous ignorance? What about the people who had turned and would turn a blind eye to such unquestionable evil, again and again and again, all for the sake of. . . what? Money? Ambition?

With the way this empire ran: their own lives, even?

And what about her father?

The knowledge stopped Leia cold.

Her father had known about this.

An _abomination_ , he'd called it; Leia did not disagree. But even thinking that, he'd let it happen anyway, _allowed_ Palpatine to get away with it. How many times had one of his _classified missions_ been to the building site of this _Death Star_? How many times had he willing gone off to aid the production of such a repulsive item, lying to them about what he was doing with the usual pretty words? _Peace. Justice. Security._

_This is not justice._

How many times had Leia _let him_?

How many times had she turned a blind eye herself?

She turned her head. Luke tried to catch her gaze, but she couldn't look at him. Not right now, not with these thoughts; not with how he'd reacted the last time she'd confided in him about such a thing. Her eyes sought out her father, but the moment Vader turned to meet her gaze as well, she looked away.

She swallowed.

Her father had been wrong.

He had been wrong when he killed their aunt and uncle and stolen their memories of it, withheld their identities. And he had been wrong now, in supporting this monstrosity, and deceiving them about it.

So what if. . .

What if. . .

It was a quiet, treasonous voice in her head that spoke, but Leia couldn't bring herself to silence it.

Not now.

_So what if he's wrong about the Empire and the coup, as well?_

* * *

Luke barely heard what Palpatine said after that, desperately trying to catch his sister's eye. She was as pale as bone, still in a way she never was, and she was _definitely_ avoiding his gaze.

After what seemed like an age, Palpatine dismissed the gathering, and he shot straight for her. He snagged her wrist before she could flee the bridge.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, falling into step with her through the halls of the _Devastator_. He nudged open their twin bond to let some of his concern—and disgust at what they'd just witnessed—seep through.

She relaxed marginally, but she remained tightly closed off in the Force.

"I'm fine," she said aloud. Then—mentally, because there were security holos on the _Devastator_ — _I can see why Father called it an abomination._

_It's horrific,_ he agreed. He cast his senses out to pick through the Force for surveillance cameras; a small, empty board room nearby only had one. _And_ it was faulty.

He touched Leia's wrist lightly, tilting his head towards the door. After a moment, she shook her head.

"No," she murmured. "I— I want to think about it myself, first."

He nodded. He could understand that. He still hadn't fully opened up to her about Skystrike. He hadn't yet decided what it meant to him, but. . . he thought he might have now.

Watching her go, he had to admit: That was the part that scared him the most.

* * *

Leia would never admit it, but she knew the frequency to Sabé's comm off by heart by now. She keyed it in on reflex, desperately trying to stop her hands from shaking.

As always, the woman picked up within moments. Leia wondered if she considered her a priority, or something. _"Leia?"_

"They've made a Death Star," she blurted out, just self-conscious enough to keep her voice down. Otherwise, she had no control of what her body was doing; she bowed her head, pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. They were wet.

Sabé didn't push for answers; maybe she thought Leia would clam up if she did.

She wouldn't have, but she was grateful for the silence anyway: it meant nothing interrupted the _cascade_ that was already unintelligible enough as it was.

"I— we had a _plan_ , me and Luke and Father: we were going to kill Palpatine, because he's a _blight on the galaxy_ , and then I was going to be Empress and I could _change things_ , all the _shit_ that that's so _kriffed up_ in this Empire, but— Then there's a _Death Star_ , and everyone was _applauding it_ , and they _supported it_ , and that was _everyone in the upper echelons of the Empire. Everyone_ supported it. _My own kriffing father_ never did anything to stop it, for all that he preaches about it being _an_ _abomination_ or _disgusting_ , and—" She took a deep breath for the first time since she started. A massive tear spilled down her cheek, hot and _flooding_. "There is nothing worth saving here."

It felt like tying a noose. The sheer act of saying those words— And she could _see_ the finality they brought about, the death knell. The snap of boots against permacrete as the firing squad lifted their blasters, the _snap-hiss_ of the lightsaber shooting through flesh only—

Whose death did it herald?

Palpatine's? Her own? Luke's?

Her father's?

_I've been having visions of your father's death. . ._

No.

No—she didn't know what the future would hold, but she _would not_ lose any more family.

"There is nothing worth saving in this Empire," she said again, stronger now, "and I want to help you tear it down."

* * *

Just because Leia had decided not to use that small board room, didn't mean Luke couldn't. And he did.

There was someone he needed to talk to.

He'd wondered, he remembered, how many people in the upper echelons of the Empire would object to firing on an unarmed transport.

After the applause at the Death Star, he had his answer:

Not enough.

Not enough for it to be worth it.

If they had no objections to firing on an unarmed _planet_ , that just went without saying.

So Luke had a decision to make.

He was always chided for being reckless, for not _thinking_ before he _leapt_ , so he took a moment to consider his options.

Stay with the Empire. Keep doing what he was doing. Stay with his father, his sister; participate in the coup, and hope he could. . . disassemble. . . this sadistic, selfish trend in the Imperial elite.

But the Empire wasn't a machine he could take apart and put back together. He knew that. Whatever he did, no matter how he tried to change it. . . this trend would continue.

His other option. . .

He tapped Ahsoka's frequency into his comlink and waited for a response.

This was a false dilemma. He knew that. There were _other options_ , ones that weren't quite so _drastic_ , which didn't have _the end of the galaxy as he knew it_ as the only thing to measure against.

But the thing was: it wasn't the defection that made his soul riot just thinking about it.

It was the thought of standing by and deciding to stay.

Because, as much as he wanted to pin everything on Palpatine, this was not the work of one man. The problems ran deeper than that.

The Empire he served had built something to destroy entire planets. Hardworking sentient beings had put their lives' work into something that was nothing more than a machine for destruction. Hundreds, if not _thousands_ , of people had used Palpatine's work and embraced it, made it their own; they had turned militant totalitarianism into a chance to advance and _succeeded_ , building a death machine to maintain that stranglehold on everyone else. Every person that had been in that room as it was revealed was guilty of it.

Tarkin, muscling in to drag more systems under his control.

His father, _executing_ anyone the tyrant thought stood in his way.

And Luke and Leia, who'd stood by, who'd done whatever was asked of them without question, without considering the long term effects. . .who'd enabled this.

The Empire was not as the Emperor made it. One person could have all the power in the galaxy, but they could never change every heart and mind. Palpatine had set the ball rolling, but it was the people. . .

. . . _and the system that put them in power_. . .

. . .which made it so toxic.

Nothing in politics was simple. That was why he had stuck to the military.

But one thing _was_ :

Luke could not stand by any longer.

* * *

Sabé's silence betrayed just how _shocked_ she was, but there was a joy behind it as well. Leia tried not to think about that.

"I'll do what I can—I know you might not want a literal Sith rubbing shoulders with your soldiers, but I can fight, I'm highly placed, I— I can spy." She swallowed, throat drier than the breeze through Mos Eisley. "There. I can spy, pass on important information."

Sabé was clearly trying very hard to keep her calm, but her shock was still evident in her voice—the Amidala-like monotone she was forced to revert to—as she said, _"That's. . . very useful."_

"Here's my first piece of information: Palpatine went and built a _kriffing_ Death Star." Leia was well-aware she was babbling. She hoped Sabé could keep up. "It's a massive space station the size of a small moon, it has enough firepower to destroy an entire _planet_ at full potential. It was in the Kuat system until minutes ago, then it jumped to hyperspace back to wherever it's being constructed—I don't know where that is, but I can try and find out—"

_"Okay,"_ Sabé said. Her voice was still too calm, like the surface of a riptide. _"Okay, that's— This is brilliant, that you've told us. But,"_ she lowered her voice, _"the power to destroy_ entire planets _?"_

The same horror that Leia had felt—that Leia had felt _Luke_ feel—was reflected in her voice.

* * *

_"Luke?"_ Ahsoka said, sounding like it wasn't the first time she'd said it. He wondered how long he'd been lost in his own thoughts.

He took a deep breath, skipped any pleasantries, and said it. "I'd like to defect to the Rebellion."

The words were out before he could think on them in any more detail, because the more they thought about them, the more they were _true_.

His father might be willing to support this, but Luke was not his father.

And, for the first time in years, _he did not want to be_.

He might kill him. No, he wouldn't—what had Luke told Ahsoka before? He was more important to his father than the Empire.

At least, he thought, a thoroughly _insane_ plan starting to form in his mind, he hoped so.

Because this _was_ insane. Complete and utter madness, bantha poodoo. This naive idealism wasn't what his father had taught him—it wasn't what his _uncle_ , long forgotten and missed, had taught him. It was the sort of idealism. . .

He suppressed a laugh.

It was the sort of idealism a Rebel would have.

* * *

"Yes," Leia confirmed grimly. "It— it's an abomination. _Entire planets_."

Sabé breathed out slowly. There was a tapping sound in the background—Leia realised suddenly that she was writing this all down. Everything Leia had told her.

_Everything Leia had told her._

Cold drenched her. What was she doing? She'd just betrayed her father, her brother. . .

. . .and all she felt was _relief_.

Luke would understand. It had been ages ago, but he'd _promised_ her that he would understand.

_I'd do my utmost best to understand_ why _. Because I know you, I love you, and I trust that if you believe something's the right thing to do, then there's a good chance it is_

_I'm on_ your _side. I don't care which side that is._

He would understand, she resolved fiercely. . . but unable to still the wobble in her bottom lip at the thought of what might happen if he didn't.

* * *

_". . .you're serious."_ Ahsoka's voice was flat.

"Absolutely. I'm highly placed; I'll be a good spy." Then, fiddling with his hands, he joked, "And my eighteenth birthday was yesterday, in case you object to minors signing up." Though if so, the Spectres were _very_ hypocritical—

It did as it intended: Ahsoka laughed. She sobered up again a moment later, but she _had_ laughed.

_"What brought this on?"_

Luke chewed at his bottom lip. "Palpatine's latest project. It's called the Death Star, and. . . you're not going to like it. It's an abomination."

_"What is it?"_ She sounded wary.

"It's a battle station with the power to blow up planets."

She was quiet for a moment, processing that. _"And you have a problem with it?"_

"Of course I have a problem with it!" He struggled to keep the offence out of his tone. "I'm not a monster."

Silence.

Something cold wrapped itself around Luke's heart.

_". . .and your father? Is he opposed to it?"_

_Yes_ , he made to say—but _no_ was just as true. His father, for all his bluster, had never made any move against it.

So either he approved of it, or he was a coward.

Luke didn't know which he'd prefer, but he _did_ know which was more likely.

"Don't," he said at last. "I— I don't—"

_"I understand. Your father and sister—"_

"I said _don't_." He didn't want to think about Leia.

She was the one who'd been starting to have Rebel sympathies, he knew. They'd started discussing it. . . and then he'd fled to Skystrike and committed treason, and suddenly it was too difficult to talk about. But theoretically, she should approve.

_Theoretically_.

But. . . she'd lit a match. He'd burnt the house down. There was a difference.

What had he said, when she first voiced her doubts? _I'm on_ your _side. I don't care which side that is._

What had she said? _Likewise_.

She. . . she would understand. She _had_ to. He'd explain it to her, later. Just. . . not now.

Not now, when his resolve was already fragile enough as it was.

_"Alright,"_ Ahsoka said. _"I have to go now, but I'll be in contact as soon as possible, if you can get more details for then. . ."_ A pause. _". . .Fulcrum."_

He wanted sure whether to laugh or cry at the codename. He was doing this. He was _doing this_.

_"And. . ."_ He could hear the smile in her voice.

* * *

The tapping had stopped.

Sabé said, _"Is there anything else you can tell us about this 'Death Star'?"_

Leia took a deep breath. "Yes," she said. "Much more. It's codenamed _Project Stardust_ , it's been in construction for as long as the Empire's existed, it'll be completed in a year. . ."

She rattled off everything she could remember, listening only to Sabé's hums of acknowledgement every time she wrote down a new piece of information. After a while, she was done.

"That's everything."

_"Alright,"_ Sabé said. _"I'll get back to Padmé with this. And, in this meantime. . ."_

She paused, but Leia could hear the smile in her voice.

* * *

_"Welcome to the Rebellion."_

* * *

The human woman sitting in a small office on Dantooine reread the files again. Two reports: submitted by two completely different women, whom she knew for completely different reasons, both dear to her heart in many ways. The reports had been unconnected. . . but their contents were identical.

Sabé's excitement was palpable. So was Ahsoka's.

Padmé's was too.

She reread them. Again. She'd received them hours ago, and despite the nightmarish things they promised to reveal, this _planet killer_. . . she could not stop smiling.

Luke and Leia, entirely of their own accord, had decided to come home.


	21. Aftermath

It had always been a part of the itinerary to jump back to Coruscant at 0200 the morning after the reveal of the Death Star, so that Palpatine could _just_ make the end of the celebrations and give the speech that formally closed the Empire Day festival for another year. Leia just happened to have forgotten that fact, what with everything else that had gone on.

She woke up the next morning to the familiar hum of hyperspace engines underneath her. It was the first thing she noticed, which was unusual in itself. Usually when she woke up in hyperspace, what stood out to her was the glaring _emptiness_ all around her, in the Force. She welcomed it, usually: it reminded her of living on Mustafar and—she now knew—Tatooine, where her family were the only beings for miles.

It was peculiar, waking up to those familiar vibrations without the emptiness.

She cast her mind out, and felt for the minds of all the thousands of workers on the ship. They dotted the Force like sand grains in the Jundland Wastes. She frowned, pushed a little further, then a lot further. Her father sensed her probe from the general vicinity of the bridge, and sent one back, but she pushed further—

_There_. There was the edge of the ship, and hyperspace beyond it.

She frowned. It was an embarrassingly long time before it hit her.

She was on the _Executor_. They'd switched to her father's new flagship for the jump back because it was faster. She should have noticed: she and Luke had moved to completely different quarters on the _Executor_ , with two fairly large bedrooms attaching to her father's main living area. They looked _nothing_ like their quarters on the _Devastator_. But. . .

She was distracted.

And she knew exactly why.

Her conversation with Sabé was weighing on her mind.

She could barely remember what she'd said. She wasn't convinced it hadn't all been a dream—the Death Star, too. One horrible, horrible nightmare, where the galaxy as she knew it fractured before her eyes and she was left scrambling in the wake of it—

A knock at the door.

It was Luke, she confirmed after a moment. She didn't know how she hadn't sensed his approach, but it was Luke.

She gave him a mental nudge. He felt like a ball of nerves. _Come in._

The door hissed open, and he stepped in, pausing to take a look around her new bedroom. It was the same standard Imperial grey, black and white, a wardrobe in the corner, a large but comfortable bed she was still sitting cross-legged on.

"Huh," he said aloud. "Looks identical to mine."

"Almost as if it was built for twins," she quipped.

The corner of his mouth twisted, like he was trying not to smile. Despite all her worrying and preoccupation, his genuine amusement warmed her heart.

"So this is the _Executor_ ," she commented.

"Yup." He kicked his black boots off at the door and crawled onto her bed, settling into a seat behind her. Knowing what he was about to do, it wasn't a surprise when she felt him gently start to take apart the plaits she'd slept in overnight, and summoned her hairbrush to hand from the dresser.

He continued, "I've been awake for a few hours now—"

"Couldn't sleep?" she teased. It was soothing, the rhythmic strokes of the brush through her hair; she found herself relaxing from a tension she hadn't even realised she was carrying.

The brush stilled.

"No," he said quietly.

She grimaced, but knew better than to say anything else. Everything had been so. . . sensitive. . . lately—the Death Star, their conversation about Amidala, _her defection_ —that while before she'd always known exactly what to say, now. . .

She couldn't say anything at all.

Fortunately, Luke recovered quickly. "You've slept in all the way to noon, lucky you," he commented jovially. "Father told me not to wake you because we technically don't have anything to do until we get back and he didn't want you mortally offending some important governor because you got bored."

"I would not have done that."

"I don't know, you can be pretty—"

"Finish that sentence and I will ram that hairbrush into you so hard you get imprints on your colon."

He laughed. "Alright, alright, I get it. But still, you got to sleep in. Cause for celebration."

"And what have _you_ been doing all this time?" She had her suspicions. "Wandering around getting under everyone's feet?"

"I," he informed her, putting the brush down and taking the hair in hand to start plaiting, "have been on the bridge—"

"Getting under everyone's feet?"

" _Watching how a Star Destroyer is run_."

Well, she knew what joke she would have made to that a few months ago. As distasteful as she found it now, she made it. She wanted to make him laugh again.

She nudged him with her elbow, glancing over her shoulder. "That'll be you in a few years."

Strangely enough, it just ruined the mood. Luke's hands froze for a moment, before they resumed plaiting. His cheerful tone was forced as he said, "Yeah."

Through the Force, it tasted like a lie. A lie tinged with _guilt_.

She frowned, almost— _almost_ —turning right round there and then to ask him what was wrong. He was her brother; she wanted to help him. She wanted to _end_ this horrible, horrible awkwardness between them.

But at the same time, she knew she wouldn't be able to keep any of it a secret if she did. It was all come tumbling out, and Luke. . .

_I'm on your side._

She did not know how Luke would react.

Logically, she knew that with a little bit of talking round, a little bit of explanation, he'd _understand_ —he'd _promised_ to understand. But. . . she had spent ten years surrounded by the dark side. Fear was something she knew well.

She was afraid of her brother looking at her like a monster.

Like he hated her.

Like a _traitor_.

And if there was the slightest, _tiniest_ chance that he would. . . she did not want to risk it.

It would break her.

So she kept quiet.

She didn't ask.

"The Death Star. . ." she said instead, because _that_ was clearly still weighing on everyone's minds. She felt Luke flinch. "That was real, then?"

"Unfortunately. It wasn't a dream." She didn't need to look at him to see the smile tugging at his lips. "I'd be concerned about you if you _had_ come up with it in a dream, though."

She laughed at that. There was nothing else to laugh at. "So would I, to be honest. But. . ." She chewed on her bottom lip. "It was real."

Luke's hands tightened on her hair.

"He actually built that."

"I know."

"It's—"

"Horrendous."

"Disgusting."

"Abominable."

"An affront to life itself."

A moment of surprise, then they laughed— _genuinely_ this time, in unison. It warmed her heart a little.

"I can get the thesaurus if you want," Luke quipped.

"Oh, shut up."

Another silence. So much said, so much left to say—the silence was a tangle of thorns and flowers in the woods, and Leia was unnerved and reassured by it in equal measure.

Her brother hated the Rebellion. . . but did he hate the Death Star—and Palpatine—more?

He had hero worshipped their father. In the wake of having that, that which was such a major part of his character, ripped away. . . who had he become?

She realised, with a pang of regret, that she'd never thought to find out.

But his next words—quiet, measured, and comfortably ambiguous—gave her a clue: "What is this Empire coming to?"

A sad smile curled her lips. He finished tying off the braid and let it thump softly against her back, his hands dropping into his lap. She twisted around to face him.

Automatically, she reached to entwine her fingers with his. His hand squeezed hers gently.

"I don't know," she admitted in a murmur. "But. . ."

He picked up on her thoughts. "It's up to us to change things."

_Change things_ —that was it. That was the perfect phrase, as comfortably ambiguous as his question had been. It meant her nod wasn't a lie, and that the fierce resolve that flooded through her could, for a moment, be interpreted as equal to his.

It meant that, just for a moment, she could believe that they were actually in this together.

* * *

Despite how gentle and tender as it had been—or perhaps _because of_ how gentle and tender it had been—his conversation with Leia had shaken him.

He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to confide in her. When he was braiding her hair the way he had for as long as he could remember—come to think of it, even when they didn't have their memories, Leia had always worn her hair in styles Aunt Beru had taught her to do—he'd wanted it more than anything. It was such an intimate, comfortable, _common_ thing for them to do; it felt intrinsically _wrong_ to do it when he was keeping this sort of secret from her. Like he was pretending to be the brother she'd always loved, an imposter.

He'd wanted to tell her _so much_. . .

. . .but he didn't want to risk it.

He _couldn't_ risk it.

He could deal with it, if his father hated him: their relationship was already fragile. Palpatine he didn't give a shuura fruit about. But if he lost Leia. . .

He couldn't.

So he kept his mouth shut, hating and hating and hating himself for the awkwardness, for the deception. . . but deceiving her all the same.

Leia had kicked him out of her room, saying she needed to get dressed and go mingle with the dignitaries they were escorting back to Coruscant—something about needing to keep up with the gossip of the court. Luke had never understood how she put up with them so well, but each to their own.

He made his way to the bridge, instead.

He was growing increasingly doubtful that Palpatine would ever let him serve on a Star Destroyer under his father. The Emperor must _know_ that they had burgeoning plans for a coup against him—what he'd said to Leia had as good as confirmed it—and Luke doubted he'd want to let either of his demon twins out of his sight for too long.

So all that meant was he had to learn as much as he could in the little time he had.

He stood on the bridge for several more hours, talking amiably with the newly-appointed Captain Piett—he was one of his father's favoured officers, if he remembered correctly—and trying to take in as much information from the man as possible.

He was standing there when he sensed the commotion.

They'd received a message saying that his father was on their way up only a few minutes before, when it started. Luke cast out his senses at the first hint of trouble, to find Vader a few corridors below him.

He frowned, and turned sharply on his heel to exit the bridge, exchanging a worried gaze with Piett.

He could sense the tension rise in the pits when he left—he wasn't sure quite _when_ he'd acquired the reputation for being a sort of good luck charm against strangulation as far as the officers under his father were concerned, but he had—and did his best to ignore it. The tension was rising inside him, as well.

He could sense another presence next to his father, stoic and steadfast but _afraid_.

It was by a turbolift almost directly between his father's quarters and the bridge—he must have been waylaid midstride—that he found them. Jade's vibrant hair was just peeking out from under her helmet, her visor closed. She stood absolutely stock still.

Vader had his hand out towards her, fingers pinched together.

The doors to the turbolift opened on that scene, but neither of them so much as twitched as it chimed.

The scene—the _familiar_ scene—sent a pang through Luke's gut. How many times had he seen this, his father hurting or even killing an Inquisitor or officer just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? All Jade ever did was snap back when she was snapped at; she never became a threat, or even a minor hindrance. She just. . . irked him, and he wouldn't flinch at killing her.

How had Luke not seen how corrupt this Empire was before? His own father was complicit in it—his own father wouldn't object to firing on an unarmed transport, or even planet; he just objected to firing with something as crude and artificial as the Death Star.

He couldn't see Jade's face, but he could imagine it was started to turn purple. She twitched unpleasantly; he could feel her consciousness fading in the Force.

Luke cleared his throat pointedly. "Father." No response. "Let her go."

Surprisingly, Vader did—or perhaps not so surprising. He _had_ stopped before, when he realised it made Luke uncomfortable; he'd only tried to talk Luke _out of_ being uncomfortable immediately after. Now was no exception.

Jade's mask hissed open as she gasped for air, oxygen flooding back into her lungs. Unconsciously, a hand reached up to rub her throat.

"The nearest medbay is one floor down, fifth door on the right," Luke told her. "I suggest you go and make sure you haven't suffered permanent damage."

She glared at him, but it was half-hearted. She knew who was to blame. "I know how to deal with this sort of injury."

Odd. Her eyes almost looked green when she said that.

"I don't doubt it," Luke said calmly—deceptively calmly, but it wasn't a threat to Jade. It was a threat to his father. "But it's always better to be safe than sorry." A moment, then— "I'll come and talk to you after, if you want."

For one long moment, she almost seemed like she'd nod, accept the offer. But then she scowled. "I don't need your help."

His father stiffened at the perceived insult, hand rising again—

Luke seized it with the Force and pushed it down. "I know you don't," he said, "and I wasn't trying to imply that you do."

She didn't seem to know how to respond to that.

After a moment, she just stalked away, the turbolift doors closing behind her.

Luke waited for the chime before he said to his father, cuttingly calm, "I thought you were supposed to be heading up to the bridge."

Vader straightened up, caution in his voice. "It was a brief delay."

"What did she do this time? Accidentally walk past you?"

"She suggested that the launch of the _Executor_ meant I would have to spend less time of Coruscant, and that she hoped it meant she would see less of me."

"So naturally you had to nearly kill her."

"She will survive." The dismissal in his father's voice made Luke's ire rise. He tried to crush it down, veil it behind shields, but Vader picked up on it anyway. "You disagree with how I handle the Inquisitors."

Luke lifted his chin and looked his father in the eye. "Yes. I do." A moment, then he added— "And I think you already knew that."

There was no response from Vader save a tightening of his fists.

"Now," Luke continued, despite the fact he _knew_ it was just going to escalate, he _knew_ his relationship with his father was already strained; he _did not care—_ "Don't you have a bridge crew to terrorise?"

"You disagree with how I handle them as well," Vader pushed. "You protect them, constantly."

"It's called having a conscience."

"A _conscience_?" His father sneered the word. "I did not raise you with such simplistic ideas of right and wrong."

"You're correct. For a good seven years, you didn't raise me at all."

Vader was stunned silent at that—at what it implied, that he brought it up at all. Luke had not forgiven him for lying. Not by a long shot.

But before he could reply, Luke had walked away.

He went to the medbay he'd given Jade directions to, wanting to check up on her despite what she'd said.

He wasn't surprised to find she wasn't there.

He wasn't even surprised when the medic told him she'd never turned up at all.

* * *

Leia was already lying to her brother, and she hadn't even been a Rebel spy—a _Rebel spy_ , oh stars—for twenty four hours.

At least it had been a halfway-decent lie. She _had_ gone to mingle with the Imperial dignitaries. . . for a time.

Then, she was back in her quarters, compiling a formal report of all the information she knew about the Death Star to send to Sabé.

There wasn't much. She was sure Palpatine would tell her more later—she _hoped_ Palpatine would tell her more later—but for now, she had to work with what she had.

It was called the Death Star. She seen it with her own eyes. One year away from completion, it was a battle station about the size of a small moon, whose primary function was to fire on innocent planets who'd showed the slightest hint of rebellion and destroy them. This was achieved with the focusing dish observed on the upper hemisphere of the station. She didn't know _how_ they'd managed to generate that much fire power—the entire Imperial Starfleet didn't have that—but Luke had mentioned a name in their conversation earlier: Galen Erso.

The person Luke had been interrogating for details before the reveal that had changed so much.

He, her brother theorised, was important enough in the design and development of this monstrosity that he _had_ to have something to do with it. It was a shaky claim at best, but the Force spurred them both on.

So Leia typed that into her report to, though she didn't clarify what her suspicions were based on. In her experience, people were all too quick to dismiss things they didn't understand, and as much as Palpatine boasted otherwise, _no one_ understood the Force. They just trusted it.

So she was ready when the incoming comm from Sabé lit her comlink, spot on the time she'd given her. Leia answered immediately, eyes automatically scanning her surroundings for surveillance, for all that she was in her own room, in her family's own quarters.

"Leia."

_"Good. You haven't backed out?"_ It was a careful enquiry—and a necessary one, though she still took slight offence to it.

"Of course I haven't. I'm not—" She swallowed her words: _a traitor_. That was a lie. "I put a lot of thought into this. My loyalties don't change easily. Otherwise you'd have had me on Naboo."

An exhale of breath. _"Good,"_ Sabé said again. _"You know that I had to be sure."_

"Well, I hope you are now—"

_"I am."_

"Because I'm submitting you a report of everything I know about the Death Star," she said, already reaching to tap the necessary buttons. "I'll compile more information later on—codes, fleet movements, logistics, the like. This is all I could—"

_"Leia,"_ Sabé said, _"it's perfect. I can see it coming through now."_ There was a pause, then, although Leia had told her the day before— _"One year to completion?"_

"Give or take," she confirmed grimly.

_"That's. . . not very long. We'll need to find out where it's being built, see if there's any way we can sabotage it—"_

"I'll do my best."

_"Thank you,"_ Sabé paused, then Leia could _hear_ the smile in her face as she said, _"Fulcrum."_

_Fulcrum._

"Fulcrum," she echoed. "The point on which everything turns."

_"It's our codename—"_

"I know what it is. Ahsoka Tano came up with it." She could sense Sabé's faint surprise. "You forget—it was _my_ father on Malachor."

_"Ahsoka does not have fond memories of the event, I'm told."_

"No one involved does."

There was an awkward silence, and Leia sighed. "I need to go. I'll submit the other reports once I've written them." Sabé did not seem to be introducing her to any sort of Rebel spy protocol—at least, none as strict as the Imperial protocol she'd had hammered into her for years. Perhaps that was because a spy had to by nature have slightly more flexibility, perhaps because Sabé didn't want to scare her away too soon.

It didn't matter, either way.

_"I'll send you the codes, so you know what encryption to use when contacting me. And—"_ A pause. _"Thank you, Leia. We can do so much with this. May the Force be with you."_

The comlink winked off.

Leia murmured, "May the Force be with us all."

* * *

Being on the _Executor_ , as it turned out, did not exempt Leia from her politics lessons. While she had an active mission to work on, such as the Kuat Uprising or whatever Operation Eclipse was, she tended not to have any sort of lessons scheduled. She'd had a rigorous enough education until she was sixteen that it was a welcome relief once she started missions, though paradoxically it often made her want her lessons more.

She was painfully aware of her youth and inexperience when things went the slightest bit wrong. It made her want to drop herself right back in the classroom and be lectured on _what not to do_ by one astrophysicist or military tactician or diplomatic languages tutor or another.

Even so, it was standard for her lessons to be _cancelled_ when she wasn't on Coruscant, or occupied for some reason. She'd assumed the same applied to when she was on the _Executor_.

But politics lessons were different.

Because politics lessons, she received right from the top.

The _Executor_ had a throne room, as did almost all of the Imperial Navy's flagships, and it was designed much the same as all of Palpatine's others, scattered wherever they may be across the galaxy.

_However_ , while the fact that this room had already taken up this much space on a ship in which space was a precious resource was indicative of its importance—her father's spacious quarters weren't even a _quarter_ of this size—it _was_ smaller than most of the throne rooms. It gave Leia a least a little more confidence, a little more courage, as she traversed it to kneel at the base of the steps to the throne.

"Rise, child." Palpatine waved his hand almost noncommittally, immediately rising himself to gesture her into the Emperor's quarters through the door behind the throne. "You are here to learn, not serve."

She gritted her teeth— _serving is all I do_ —but made sure her face was blank and her shields impeccable. If _Palpatine_ , of all people, was the first to discover her recent defection. . . that would be nothing short of disastrous.

He led her into a small but ostentatious room, furnished with a table and several chairs around it. Datapads and flimsi and styluses littered the top in a way that spoke of studied chaos. "Sit. After yesterday's demonstration, I thought we could start with something along those lines."

He took a seat himself. He looked comical for a moment, black robes pooling at his elbows on the table, fingers steepled, but then she reminded herself that this was _a very dangerous man_ and her mouth did not twitch into a smile.

Besides, any threat of a smile fled at what he said next. "What do you know of the Tarkin Doctrine?"

A sneer formed on her lips without consent. "Tarkin's proposal to rule through fear—he argues that fear, more than anything, will crush any rebellion and ensure the Empire continues its grip."

"Good," Palpatine praised. "And what do you think of this? The doctrine, that is," he added, "not the man. I am well aware you find him unlikeable, but you have to respect his ingenuity."

Leia begged to differ. She did not have to respect him at all.

"I think it's short-sighted," she said bluntly. Her attacks on Tarkin and the Empire's more overtly brutal policies weren't unusual in these sessions; speaking her mind here wouldn't raise suspicion. She hoped. "The more we tighten our grip, the more star systems will slip through our fingers. Eventually people will feel they have nothing left to lose, and then what will we do? It would be like a galaxy of Gerrera's Partisans—and they are troublesome enough already."

She could feel the question building in Palpatine, so she barrelled on before he interjected, prefacing her answer before he could ask. " _If_ we are to implement such drastic tactics, we have to accompany it with something that will foster loyalty as well, or only the most. . . loyal"—she stopped herself from saying _fanatical_ —"Imperials will be genuinely devoted to us."

She lifted her chin, face set in a mulish expression. "Tarkin himself used to be an advocate for both the lash and the lure. I fail to see what advantages this new doctrine of his holds over his previous philosophy."

"I see." Palpatine's eyes were narrowed, but in a pleased manner. He raked his gaze over her; his nod of approval made her relax, the slightest bit. For all that it felt dirty, immoral, to say something he approved of, at least she was _doing her job_.

"And. . ." His eyes narrowed further. "What do you think of the Death Star Tarkin has built to support his doctrine?"

_Tarkin_ has built—a neat method of shifting the blame away from Palpatine, lest she disagree and the negotiations get hostile. If she agreed, she knew, he'd go right back to taking the credit for it. Palpatine was not someone who didn't plan for _all_ contingencies.

"As I said," Leia shrugged, "the lash _and_ the lure is needed. My problem with the Tarkin Doctrine isn't use of the lash—it's _overuse_ of the lash, when the lure could be more effective." It wasn't even much of a falsehood. What was a law, and the punishment for breaking it, if not at least a mild lash?

"The Death Star is a disgusting thing," she said baldly. "It's an insult to the Force, and life itself. Such a technological terror is a waste of credits and time, when one powerful Force user could, with suitable study, _theoretically_ , do its job with a fraction of the effort."

" _Theoretically_ ," he pushed.

She didn't flinch. "Has the Death Star fired yet? Have you any proof that _it_ can do its job, beyond _theoretically_?"

His silence answered her question—as did the approving smile on his face.

"I stand by what I said. Both the lash and the lure are effective. The Death Star is, ultimately, a very severe lash. For very severe cases. . ."

She pinched her lips together briefly. She took a deep breath. She looked Palpatine in the eye.

And for the first time in her life, she flat out lied to his face.

". . .I believe the Death Star to be necessary."


	22. Return and Reveal

Time passed quickly after that.

The _Executor_ arrived on Coruscant amid pomp and ceremony the twins narrowly managed to avoid, hiding out in their respective quarters until the swarm of reporters and fanatics had died down sufficiently for them to make their run to the surface.

The moment they arrived back in the apartment, they were greeted with two stacks of datapads each. One containing details of the Eclipse investigation. The other was significantly taller, and contained all the tasks their tutors had set them to catch up on what they'd missed the last few months.

_"Homework_ , _"_ Luke grumbled uncharitably. It wasn't inaccurate.

Personally, Leia thought that between them, hunting down 'terrorist' leaders, being assigned to work as an archivist and subsequently getting punched by a Rebel, travelling undercover to a pilots' academy, then helping plan and run one of the most major, ambitious Empire Day celebrations yet had been plenty of excuse not to revise how to measure parsecs without a computer. Her tutors—and Palpatine—didn't seem to share the view.

Unfortunately, there wasn't really much they could do about the Eclipse investigation—for the Empire _or_ the Rebels. All they had to go on was that one word, the little information Palpatine's torturers _and_ Luke's analysis had managed to extract from Visz. They didn't even have any idea if the information on the datapad he'd been caught with was the actual information he was after, or just a cover up.

Luke had looked into interrogating him again, to see if his imprisonment had made him anymore likely to cooperate, but they both knew the odds of that. They'd seen all too many times how many of their father's targets died or went mad before they gave up anything of value, even _with_ the Force.

It seemed to be the case here: upon Luke's inquiries, they'd been informed that Lacert Visz had died under interrogation, and was no longer available for discussion.

There wasn't really anything they could do beyond task the Empire's multitude of intelligence agencies to report back anything— _anything—_ found in Rebel transmissions that pertained to an "Eclipse." Which meant they had a lot more for study.

The routine she settled back into was so. . . normal for her that it was almost easy to believe nothing had changed. But they _had_.

During military tactics lessons, Leia had to refrain from asking how many of these famous manoeuvres had been thought up by a Jedi.

During history lessons, Leia had to refrain from poking holes in all of Imperial history's inconsistencies.

But politics was undoubtedly the worst. Having to learn about the corrupt policies of the cause she'd thrown her lot it with, and the virtues of the government she'd grown to despise, _at Palpatine's knee_ , disgusted her day in, day out. And she had to _hide_ that disgust every time she smiled at him, every time she asked for her opinion and she lied, silver-tongued and sharp, her heart hammering and sweat painting the back of her neck with iridescence.

And then she would go home, and she would receive reports from her father about fleet movements, Palpatine's orders, whatever the memo had been about one senator or another that day. She would sit in the living room with her father and brother as they discussed plans for their coup. The firepower of the _Executor_ and the rest of Death Squadron when pitted against the Star Destroyers whose captains were loyal to Palpatine alone. The possible times to strike, when Palpatine would have his guard the lowest and there would be the lowest risk for them all. The individuals they had singled out and were approaching, trying to build a network of supporters throughout the navy and court.

"We cannot recruit any Inquisitors," her father had said firmly at the very beginning of the latter topic, with a pointed look at Luke. He'd looked almost crestfallen.

Leia wondered why. The conversation she'd had with the Sixth Sister, while he was at Skystrike, came to mind.

She almost opened her mouth to ask there and then, but the nervous look on his face when she did. . .

If she pushed him on _this_ , he might push her on. . . other things. And that could only end badly. She was sure of it.

So, hating herself for all the secrets she was allowing to fester between them. . . she kept her mouth shut.

And then, after all of that, she would go to her room and write her report to Sabé.

All of this. . . It made her restless. It made her feel like she was waiting for something to happen.

And then, just when she became used to the waiting, something did.

* * *

It was about six weeks after their return to Coruscant that Luke received the first clue to what Eclipse actually was. It came in the form of Ahsoka actually comming him directly, instead of just accepted the short, scrambled reports he'd grown used to sending out.

_"This is a specific request,"_ she said, her voice thick through the encryption. The Fulcrum symbol hovered blue above the comlink; it had been several weeks before Luke realised it was the same symbol as the markings on her forehead. _"We need the blueprints to the central power grid on Coruscant."_

Luke frowned. "You mean, the plans Visz tried to steal a few months ago?"

_"You remember him?"_

"He punched me in the face. Of course I remember him." Not that one didn't get punched a lot in Luke's line of work, but he took specific offence to people duping him and _then_ punching him. "He was in interrogation for weeks."

Despite the encryption, he could hear the caution—and the wince—in her tone. _"Interrogation? Did he—"_

"No," he assured her. "Only one word—'Eclipse'—and none of us have any idea what it means. Leia and I have been tasked with finding that out," he said wryly, "but strangely enough, we don't seem to have met much success."

He heard her release a breath. _"Good. That— that's good. Is Visz still alive? He's a good agent, if you could by any chance get him out. . ."_

_A good agent._ Smart enough to get the jump on Luke, at least.

"I'm afraid not," he said, surprised at the genuine regret that closed his throat. "He. . . died in interrogation while I was at Kuat."

_"I see."_

"So, you want me to get hold of the plans he was trying to steal?" Luke clarified. He didn't even realise he'd fished for knowledge until after he said it; he couldn't hear the amusement in Ahsoka's voice when she spoke, but he imagined it was there.

_"Yes."_ So he _had_ been trying to steal them. _"As soon as possible."_

Conveniently, Luke's datapad with all the details about the Eclipse investigation was right on hand, and the blueprints were downloaded onto that for posterity. It was ease itself to encrypt the document, then send it on to Ahsoka.

* * *

The first blip in Leia's new role was two months after their return. Unbeknownst to her, it came in the same form as it had her brother: a live comm, instead of coded messages.

_"We have a task for you,"_ was Sabé's opening line, and as uncomfortable as Leia still was with the idea of rebelling, she leaned forward eagerly. She was tired of this passive resistance, while she still supported the Empire everywhere except inside her heart; she wanted to do something _physical_ , with a _physical impact_ she could see.

"What is it?"

_"Some Rebel spies on Coruscant need an escape route; we have word that the ISB are onto them. They've completed the mission they were sent in to do, but if they get caught and it's revealed in interrogation, it will all be for nothing."_ She paused. There was something painfully human in her voice as she said, _"And I don't want to lose anymore allies to the Empire."_

Leia thought briefly of her aunt and uncle, dead nearly eleven years. Killed by the Empire—by her _father_.

If there had ever been a question about whether or not she would do it, it was answered now. "How can I help?"

_"We don't think the ISB are sure who they are, or that they're preparing to leave, but they_ will _once word comes through that servants in the Imperial Palace were seen trying to barter passage off-world. We can't risk them being caught like that."_

"So you want me to fly them off-world?"

_"No; that could risk compromising your cover, and you're one of the best agents we have."_ Leia felt oddly touched, for all that she knew it was a cold, hard fact. No one else of her rank had defected.

In her distraction she missed the ' _one of_ ' part.

_"There are several skilled pilot among them; they just need a ship. I was hoping you could provide them with one."_

"We have several, but my father will notice if one goes missing; I don't have any of my—" She froze. Yes she did. "I've got it. Tell your spies to get to these coordinates on the planet, and open landing bay 1569 with the code two-Aurek-Esk-three-seven-Thesh."

_"Bay 1569. Code two-Aurek-Esk-three-seven-Thesh."_

"Exactly. There's a ship there that they can use. Make sure they remove the Imperial insignia from the transponder, but otherwise that ship is fast for her size, has incredible shields, and is completely nondescript."

_". . .is it the ship you flew to Naboo."_

Leia wrinkled her nose at how easily she'd guessed that. "Yes. My family assume I sold it when I returned."

_"Very well. Bay 1569. Code two-Aurek-Esk-three-seven-Thesh. Ex-smuggler's ship, ex-Imperial ship; make sure to remove the Imperial transponder."_ A pause, as Leia assumed she wrote all that down. _"Thank you."_

"It's. . . my pleasure. And, tell them—" She swallowed. "May the Force be with them."

* * *

When Luke heard that the _Hidden Star_ had been stolen right from the bay Leia had docked it in, he had a few questions.

The first was: "Didn't you say you'd _sold_ that thing?"

"I told you I was _going_ to sell it. It was a perfectly good ship! I wasn't gonna sell it for anything less than it's worth, and I haven't found a serious buyer yet."

Luke was at least seventy percent sure that was a lie, but that large margin for error just showed how much he and Leia had drifted apart recently. He hated it, and the pang in his chest distracted him for a moment.

Then he shook his head, "Anyway, get in your fighter. We need to go after it." Not that he had any intention of _catching_ the fleeing Rebel spies—being complicit in the interrogation and torture of such vital agents might not go down well with the Rebellion—but if they didn't at least _try_ to catch them. . .

"Why do _we_ have to? Isn't that what the fleet constantly hanging over Coruscant is for?"

"Sure. But you know the average competency of some Imperial forces, and that was _your_ ship they escaped in. Do you really want to be the one to explain to Palpatine why that was?"

Leia grimaced—for an instant, she looked genuinely afraid. "He would _kill_ me."

"I'll cry at your funeral."

"That's so gratifying." She rolled her eyes. "Come on, idiot, get in the TIEs."

"Do you think Father would mind if—"

"Yes. Yes he would."

So they shot out of the atmosphere above Coruscant in standard TIEs, tweaked by their father slightly—he'd never let them fly in something that didn't have _some_ sort of shields—but without the speed and weapons capabilities of a TIE Advanced or Interceptor or Defender.

Luke made a mental note to get hold of one of them.

But it didn't matter. They had each other.

_"There,"_ Leia's voice came over the comms, _"the_ Hidden Star _, straight ahead. They're powering up to jump."_

"Intel suspects the spies aren't taking any important information to the Rebels, they're just trying to escape. We need them alive to find out what they've leaked already. Are there any Interdictors nearby?"

_"Not above Coruscant."_

"So we have to stop them from jumping, _without_ harming any of the crew, and hope a Star Destroyer gets a tractor beam locked on them in time?" He could hear the scepticism in his own voice, for all that it hid the genuine relief he was feeling. If it was a difficult task on their parts already, Palpatine wouldn't punish them for being unusually incompetent and letting them escape.

Theoretically.

Only one way to find out.

Without any verbal warning—Leia needed none—Luke shot forward. She followed suit, raking her first barrage over the _Star_ , watching pockets of fire bloom along their shields.

No damage was taken.

* * *

Leia had just the right amount of focus to recognise that Luke was hailing the other Star Destroyers in the area, but she also knew that by the time they got here, it would be too late. Conveniently, it was up to her.

The _Star_ swung round rapidly when she fired again, those weapons Leia had taken such pride in being brought to bear against _her_ in a storm that had her darting away like a firefly to escape, her shields sizzling with the impact. She sensed more than heard Luke's clipped negotiations with the Destroyers' captains—politics as usual, then—come to an end, then he joined her flank.

Together, they engaged.

The _Hidden Star_ escaped anyway.

* * *

Palpatine had been unimpressed.

_Beyond_ unimpressed. Not only had several spies been operating in his palace, right under the noses of his greatest military minds, but they had also out-flown two of his greatest agents.

He did not hesitate to make that displeasure known.

It had been a short electrocution, compared to the first one Luke had borne, but he was still furious that Leia had been punished at all. Naturally, he was angry that Palpatine had electrocuted _him_ , but Leia had done _nothing wrong_. She'd fired on that ship with every ounce of skill she had. _She_ was not the reason it had failed; _she_ was not the traitor.

Luke was.

The thought sobered him. His actions had caused his sister just as much pain as they'd caused him, today, and she had had no say in it. It racked him with guilt.

Leia could sense it, he knew. She kept giving him odd looks, sending warm, concerned inquiries along their bond. _What's wrong?_

What could he say?

_I betrayed you, Father and everything you stand for because of a rotting old corpse we're planning on deposing anyway and a woman who abandoned us when we were children_? That wouldn't go down well, he sensed. And. . .

He couldn't bear to see the rejection in her eyes.

When they returned to the apartment after dropping in at a medbay, he'd headed straight for his bedroom, mumbling some excuse about having studying to catch up on. It wasn't a _lie_ , he _did_ have work for military tactics, but he found he couldn't focus. He ended up staring at the holo image of a walker for who knew how long, not really thinking of anything at all.

"Luke?"

He started, the datapad sliding off his lap. Leia caught it with the Force and floated it back up to him. He accepted it wordlessly.

She sat down on the bed beside him. "Something's bothering you."

He didn't answer, still staring at the datapad. The holo of the walker, caught with one of its long, spindly legs raised; mid-step. "You know, they really need to change the AT-ATs' designs. Rebel speeders come equipped with tow cables. A savvy pilot and his gunner would be able to wrap it up and trip it over with ease. I'm surprised they haven't done so already."

"Not everyone's as smart as you, Luke," Leia said. "But I am, and I know when you're avoiding my question."

He let out a sigh.

He couldn't tell her.

He had to tell her.

He _couldn't tell her_ —

"I—" He swallowed. "I. . . never told you what happened at Skystrike."

She folded her hands in her lap, fixing him with a patient look. He swallowed again.

He couldn't tell her. He couldn't tell her.

He had to tell her.

Faint tremors still wracked his body from Palpatine's. . . _displeasure_ ; she tried to hide them, but he could see them in Leia as well.

It wasn't just him paying the price for his treason anymore. It was his sister.

And that was something he could not accept.

Whether or not she hated him. Whether or not she turned him in, and everything he'd given the Rebellion would be for naught.

He had to tell her.

"I. . . You know that they got away. The defectors got away." It was a statement, not a question, but she nodded in response anyway. "I. . . didn't fail to stop them."

She delicately arched one eyebrow. "It wasn't your fault? Was it Pryce?"

"No." He swallowed again. His throat felt like the Dune Sea at high noon. "I was in the corridor with them. I'd sealed the doors shut. And then. . . I let them go."

The words dropped like a stone. The silence was deafening.

Leia took a deep breath. "Well," she commented. Her tone was sharp, knife-like, but that knife was not turned on him. Not just yet. "You went from shouting at me about treason to committing it yourself real fast."

He flinched at that word. "It _wasn't_ treason!" he defended. Her glance was sceptical. "At least. . . not yet."

" _Yet_?"

He flinched. He hadn't meant to say that.

But. . . in for a credit, in for the pot, he supposed. He had to tell her.

"Ahsoka Tano made contact with me after the event, and was trying to convince me to. . . turn traitor"—he had to prise the word out of his gums—"but I didn't buy it! Not until. . ."

He trailed off.

His mind was still locked down tight, but Leia managed to guess, with a certainty that unnerved him, "Until the Death Star."

He jerked his head up. "How did you—"

"Because, Luke," she reached for his hand and squeezed it in hers, a smile of joy and familiarity and _relief_ breaking the strain on her face, "that was when I defected as well _._ "

_That was when I defected as well_

Defection.

It was the first time he'd heard it aloud in regards to. . . all of this.

He shook his head, "You—" He didn't have any words for it. But. . .

Something ballooned in his chest.

He'd told her. _He'd told her._ And she wasn't looking at him in disgust or heartbreak; she was looking at him with _happiness_ , the same relief he now felt. She— His sister—

He lunged forward, throwing his arms around her neck and burying his face in her shoulder. She laughed wetly; a moment later, her arms came round him and her head was to his chest. They were both crying.

"This isn't what I expected when I finally told you," she whispered against his shirt. It broke his heart.

He said, " _Likewise_ ," and felt her smile almost giddily.

He drew back after a moment, and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. Even as he met her eye, smiling, another one spilled out.

"What was it like for you?" _What changed_ your _mind? What made you go_ that _far?_

She made to open her mouth—then paused. Leaned forward instead until they were forehead to forehead, the heat from her mind seeping into his.

"Like this," she breathed.

She brought down those painstakingly constructed shields, one by one, and showed him. A moment later, he showed her in return.

* * *

Imperial censorship was tough, even in the highest echelons. Luke and Leia could hardly have known while they discussed treason, democracy and the downfall of a tyrant, it was in the ex-apartment of Padmé Amidala.

It was in the apartment where the Delegation of 2,000—and thus, the Rebellion—had been born.

* * *

They talked about it for hours afterwards. Hours and hours and hours, comparing the points that had changed everything for them, the ways they'd been persuaded, the information they'd passed on.

"At least not all of it was identical," Leia had laughed when she heard Luke's summaries, "otherwise they might have been thinking they only needed one of us."

"Or that it was a twin-bond thing."

"Also true."

"But I would never," Luke affected, hand to his chest. "Who in the _galaxy_ cares _one whit_ about the gossip of the Imperial Court?"

She shoved at his chest, well aware that he was joking but rising to the bait anyway. "Hey! It's good for blackmail, infiltration and just knowing your enemies!"

"Perhaps." He sniffed haughtily, making her laugh harder. "But still. . . _gossip_. . ."

After the first half hour, they figured they should alert their respective contacts that they had each found out about the other—security purposes, and all—and scrambled to send short, encoded messages that probably did nothing to convey the sheer _joy_ they both felt at the news. Leia could feel Luke's even more strongly than her own, their Force bond alight and free of awkwardness and secrets in a way it hadn't been for _months_.

She finally felt like she could breathe again.

The euphoria buoyed her long into the evening, a grin forming on her face when she so much as shared a glance with her brother. She felt so _happy_.

Naturally, it all came crashing down only a few hours later.

And naturally, it was her father—inadvertently or not—who destroyed it.

They were at dinner, and Leia was chomping on her steak with an enthusiasm she had lacked, recently. Vader—who didn't eat, but sat with them for the purposes of being a healthy, sociable father—commented, "You seem happier."

She nodded idly, sharing another glance with Luke.

Vader glanced between them, perplexed. "I had thought," he said, a little more delicately, "that after the Rebels' escape, and your talk with the Emperor. . ."

Leia's fork stilled. Luke flinched. They didn't want to think about that.

Vader noticed, and she felt an intense surge of protectiveness from him. It would have made her smile again, did she not have one horrible thought in her mind: it wouldn't last.

The moment he learnt that both of his children had betrayed him, it would shatter his heart.

He'd already said that their mother had betrayed him. . .

He read her mood change, and misinterpreted it. "He will not touch you again," he declared fiercely. "I promise you that, young ones."

But Luke had put down his fork, shaking his head. "You can't promise that, Father. Not until after the coup. You can't. . ." He worked the words in his mouth. ". . .raise his suspicions like that."

". . .perhaps not," Vader conceded, though the words seemed to have been ripped from his vocoder. "But he is not inclined to punish you again for _this_ incident. He already believes there are more spies in the Palace, highly placed, who allowed them to escape."

Leia choked on her food. She exchanged an alarmed glance with Luke.

Vader paused, tilting his helmet at the two of them. Kriff.

Well, he'd misread their unease before. Leia could cover up their slip by prodding him to do the same now.

" _More_ Rebels?" she got out, faux horror coating her voice. She kicked Luke's under the table; he assumed a similarly horrified and disgusted expression.

Their father sat back, mollified. "Indeed. _Someone_ had to have leaked the codes to get onto your ship, after all. The ISB have apparently been less than thorough in rooting them out."

"Big surprise there," Luke muttered. Leia was surprised at how calm he could act under the circumstances, but she supposed the distaste for the ISB for real. _Especially_ after what he'd shown her had happened at Skystrike.

"Perhaps not." Vader's mask tilted back down, towards their meals, and Leia picked up her utensils again. "But rest assured, those responsible _will_ be caught and punished."

Leia clenched her fist around her fork, and stubbornly avoided Luke's gaze.

"It is only a matter of time."


	23. Mirror Shards

A few more weeks passed. It was late evening, and shadows were just starting to cloak the buildings around the apartment. Luke was in the middle of a particularly thorny essay about the invention of the Marg Sabl and its strengths and weaknesses, amusing himself with wondering whether Ahsoka would consider it a breach of protocol if he commed her just to ask about it. She'd invented the manoeuvre, after all.

Perhaps it was because he was thinking about her; perhaps it was because he was just distracted at that moment. Still, that moment coincidentally happened to be the moment he noticed her presence on the planet.

She was nearby—that was the only reason he noticed her. Leia, sitting on the sofa opposite him, glanced up, but she clearly didn't recognise the presence. "Who's that?"

He put his datapad to the side. Ahsoka was lucky they lived so far from the Palace, and she was lucky their father was on a short excursion to Alderaan for a few days. It was unlikely either Vader or Palpatine could sense her at this distance, not among the billions of minds on the planet and the chiaroscuro of them all.

"Ahsoka," he said, frowning and reaching out. _You shouldn't be here._

Her mind was warm when it reached out; it was oddly jarring. He'd never realised, until he met her, just how _cold_ everyone around him was—including Leia. _No,_ she agreed, _but I figured this was something I should explain in person. Bring your sister._

Luke looked up at Leia, who was still watching him with furrowed brows. He pushed himself up, swung his legs off the table, and said, "She wants to talk to us both."

Ahsoka had decided to climb to some irritating landing pad again, but at least this time the walkway was wide enough to accommodate a speeder. Luke didn't have to lead Leia through the rigmarole that was jumping from strut to strut; they just flew right over and settled down a few metres away from where she was.

She sat on the walkway cross-legged, in a loose meditation pose, her hands loose and relaxed on her knees. Her twin lightsabers were prominent at her side.

Upon their approach, she opened her eyes and tilted her head towards them, gaze resting curiously on Leia in particular.

Leia was staring at her as well. "Ahsoka Tano."

"Leia Skywalker," Ahsoka replied easily. "Pleasure to meet you."

"What is this about?"

He and Leia said it at the same time—they exchanged grins while Ahsoka laughed. She clambered to her feet, and turned to face them fully.

Luke tilted his head back to meet her eyes, suddenly aware that the two of them, as fairly diminutive humans, were tiny compared to an adult Togruta.

"Operation Eclipse," she said simply.

Luke sucked in a breath.

Ahsoka cast him an amused glance, but she addressed Leia when she said, "Your brother tells me you've both been assigned to this case?" Leia nodded. "What does the Empire know about it?"

"Not much," Leia admitted.

"Good. Padmé's been working on this for years. Saw's been continually on her case for not taking enough action because she never seems to _do_ anything, all our resources are diverted towards this. If it was discovered now. . ."

Luke was itching to ask, but he didn't. Ahsoka would tell him everything he didn't to know; it was a security hazard, otherwise. He'd just have to trust that. . . his mother. . . knew what she was doing.

Huh. He'd never directly acknowledged her as _his mother_ in such a familial way before.

Leia, however, was not as patient as him. She crossed her arms across her chest. "And what do you want us to know about it?"

"We're going to bomb the central power grid on Coruscant."

Leia and Luke exchanged a look.

"Well then," Luke commented, "a guess I made a few months ago might be more accurate than we thought."

Leia grumbled, "I hate that you were right."

"You _guessed_ this?"

"It was a possibility. It never went into any official reports; they're for hard evidence and occasionally premonitions from the Force, not hunches."

Ahsoka sighed. "Well, you were correct. We want to take out the central power grid, take down the power for most of the planet, then take the planet while it's still dark. Without power, its defences might be severely compromised."

"What about emergency power?"

"It takes a few minutes to kick in, and is fairly minimal. If our attack is swift enough, we catch the Imperials off guard so that when it floods back in, we still have the upper hand. And," she added quietly, "the infiltration team will hopefully have taken out Palpatine by then."

Leia thought about it. A planet—a beacon of millions of lights—going dark for minutes on end, before the light returned and everything was the same, but different.

She said, "Eclipse."

Ahsoka nodded.

Luke shook his head. "It has its merits, but it won't work. The Palace itself is on a separate grid—"

"Our escapee spies from a few weeks ago"—she shot Leia a grin—"have planted their own little surprises on the Palace's power generators. We just need _someone_ who has a high enough clearance to get to the control room and trigger it."

Luke blinked, knowing what she meant and getting a little thrill from it.

Leia asked, "If they're disabled by the time of the attack?"

"The infiltrators knew their stuff. With any luck, they'll have hidden them well enough that they aren't found for several more years. Erso and Andor are some of the best the Partisans and the rest of the Rebellion have to offer."

_Erso_. Luke squished down on the recognition the name evoked in him. He'd think about it later.

Instead, he asked quietly, "And the fleet?" Ahsoka winced, and he pushed, "How are you gonna get past them? Even if they're in the Outer Rim at whatever point you choose to attack, they'll be here within days, and you will not be able to hold Coruscant for long."

Ahsoka was silent for a moment.

Luke felt Leia look at him, concerned, but he didn't look back.

Finally, Ahsoka said, "Anakin controls the fleet."

_That_ was not what Luke had been expecting. He frowned. "And. . .?"

"His capacity for attachment is. . . known to us. It was partly what got us into this situation with the Empire in the first place."

Luke's eyebrows flew up. _That_ was a story he had not heard. But. . . "So?"

"He loved your mother with every fibre of his being, back when he stilled called himself Anakin Skywalker. Padmé's original plan was to reveal that she was alive at an opportune moment and. . . persuade him to stand down." Ahsoka shifted, folding her hands behind her back. She didn't meet Luke's stare. "The Anakin I knew would have done it in a heartbeat. He would have done anything for her."

"He won't now."

Luke, jerked out of his slightly-aghast, slightly-impressed reverie, looked at his sister. Her arms were folded across her chest.

She said simply, "He won't. He loves the Empire, he's given everything he has to it. He won't give it up for a woman who let him believe she was dead for nearly twenty years."

Her voice was confident, and her shields were tight. Luke was fairly sure Ahsoka couldn't sense the uncertainty she was feeling, but he could.

He reached out to rest one hand on her shoulder. Warm, comfortable, solid. She relaxed slightly.

Ahsoka narrowed her eyes at him. "You told me, with certainty, that if it came down to it he would choose you two over the Empire."

Luke flinched at the memory. It had been more attack at his mother than defence of his father. But it was true.

Leia thought so too. "Well, _we_ are a different story. He'd do it for us."

"So he loves you more than Padmé?"

"No." They said it in unison; it was true. He was too reluctant to talk about their mother, in too much pain, for him to love her anything less than life itself.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? There was too much pain. There was too much to ever forgive. There wasn't with the two of them.

_But if he finds out we betrayed him?_

Luke crushed the thought violently. Now. . . was not the time to think about that. There might _never_ be a time to think about that.

Ahsoka held up her hands. "Alright, alright. I don't understand. But I need to know one thing: Would he do it for you?"

Luke grimaced. Shared a glance with Leia. Swallowed.

". . .probably."

Ahsoka nodded. "Good," she said grimly, "because in light of recent events, you're the ones we're relying on to talk him round."

Luke was left genuinely stunned for a moment.

Leia found her voice first. " _What_? You want us to—"

"Leia," Ahsoka interrupted, infuriatingly calmly. "This is a major military operation, one Padmé's been developing for _years_. This is why she left you on Tatooine: so she could devote her time to _this_ , and dissolve the Empire, and make a more peaceful galaxy for you to grow up in." Leia flinched back; Luke moved his hand from her left shoulder to her right, so he was hugging her to his side. "Every mission to rescue pilots with Rebel sympathies"—a glance at Luke—"every spy placed in the Kuat shipyards"—back to Leia—"and every moment spend building the Rebellion into a credible threat, has all led up to this. This is _going_ to happen, with or without you. But without you. . . it will fail."

Luke was frozen. He wasn't sure whether he was holding Leia up, or she was holding him up. He couldn't move a muscle.

Ahsoka sighed. "Just. . . think about it," she offered. "The Rebellion needs you—we need your information, we need your efforts alongside everyone else's, and we need your father as well. If we take Coruscant within the next year, this Death Star will never been unleashed. Tarkin can be removed from power. We can make things _right_.

"I'll be back within a few days to hear your formal decision on the matter—there's someone else I'll have with me then, as well. He wants to talk to you. I. . .

"I'm sorry I have to force you into this position. But one thing I'm _not_ sorry about, is that it will be _over soon_." She smiled, a little sadly. "One way or another."

* * *

Luke was on edge for days. The knowledge that his sister was supporting him eased the burden somewhat—they could share the pressure, as they'd shared everything since they were born—but still. The thought that Palpatine was now looking for a Rebel spy highly placed in the Empire was bad enough. The thought that he was being asked to betray his father while he was at it. . .

But he had already betrayed his father just by doing this, hadn't he?

And his father had betrayed _him_ long ago. And his sister. And his mother.

_Force_ , their family was a mess.

So when Palpatine talked to him amiably in the throne room one day, he couldn't force himself to relax. The conversation was a mocking parody of the one they'd had after he'd electrocuted him for the first time; Luke let some of that comparison leak past his shields and spotted the moment Palpatine recognised it, the attempt at a warmth smile on his face shifting to something a little more smug.

Let him think _that_ was why Luke was tense. If it distracted from the real reason. . .

"So, my boy," Palpatine asked to begin it, gesturing Luke to sit down on the steps— _just like last time_ —and sitting down next to him. There were a deplorable lack of chairs in the throne room. "How go your studies?"

It wasn't an unusual question. Palpatine had checked in with them often over the years, prodded them to keep speaking about their interests and fears and just _talking_ to them. Getting to know them. It had seemed like a grandfatherly act when they were little.

Now Luke understood it was about keeping your friends close. . . and your enemies closer.

He could manipulate them all the better if he _knew them_ , after all.

Luke said, "Well, Master. For all that it's difficult adjusting back to the classroom again." He tried to make it sound like a joke, and could not believe he'd ever thought that the smile forming on Palpatine's face could be kind.

The conversation continued, back and forth, back and forth, and the whole time Palpatine didn't so much as let a _hint_ of suspicion slip. He didn't even mention Luke introducing himself to Erso as _Skywalker_ at Kuat; Luke toyed with the idea that he might not have heard of it, then instantly discarded the thought. There was no way he _hadn't_ heard of it. He had so many spies and informers, desperate to sell anyone out and climb to the top, and the bridge of the _Devastator_ had been full of them that day.

Which made his silence all the more suspicious.

Kriff.

But the conversation went well. Luke was careful not to let even a crack form in his shields; despite his tension, he was cordial and even managed to make a few jokes; when he stood up to bow at the end, he was as subservient and obsequious as ever. He loathed it, but he performed it.

When he turned to stride out of the room, he felt those yellow eyes burning a hole in his back.

He strode faster.

His heart jack-hammered against his ribs. He paused for a moment, once he was outside, but he could still feel the gazes of the red guards on him, searching.

He kept walking.

He would argue that he had no control over where his legs took him next, muscle memory guiding them more than logical thought, but that was only part true. The truth was, he needed to settle his mind somehow. He needed to do something simple, repetitive, but that still took up most of his thoughts.

He could have headed for the training room, but he didn't want to run into his father by accident; if he sensed Luke was stressed enough to train in the rooms of the Imperial Palace instead of waiting until he got home, he would certainly come check on him. Luke didn't think he could face him—not with Ahsoka's request hanging over his head.

The second option that came to mind was one he would have sooner died than volunteer for, six months ago. But things had changed since then.

The Archives' blue light was a lot softer than he remembered.

He walked right up to Horada's desk and wasted no time in holding out his lightsaber, emitter facing towards him. She didn't respond at first, slowly moving those ice-pale eyes up the document she was reading before they settled on Luke.

No shock passed her face. Jocasta Nu had broken into these Archives once, had a lightsaber duel with both his father and the Grand Inquisitor, and deleted all the data the Jedi had collected, leaving the Empire to reconstruct everything from scratch. One arrogant teenager changing his ways was nothing to her.

She just raised one eyebrow, and took the proffered lightsaber.

"Is there anything you'd like me to file?" Luke asked.

A faint smile curled her lips—the first Luke had ever seen on her. It made him feel like he'd achieved something.

She jerked her head towards an empty desk halfway down the room. "Cynthia's ill today. Take her workload, and you'll have saved her—and me—several headaches for tomorrow."

He nodded, and got to work.

It _was_ soothing, returning to the job that had been foisted on him all those months ago. Palpatine had done it to crush his dreams of serving at his father's side, teach him obedience. All it had taught him was patience. How to search for what he wanted to know. How to wait for the right moment to strike.

And for all that he knew that raw facts could be manipulated, falsified and spun to suit any agenda. . . it was soothing to have something _reliably true_ under his hands. Horada was meticulous, if nothing else: she valued honesty.

It was almost like it was fated, what happened next. After the déjà vu of his conversation with Palpatine, and coming to the Archives, it was only natural that she turned up as well.

Mara Jade was perusing the shelves when she paused, goggling at Luke with unabashed shock. He smiled faintly—calmly—at her, before turning his gaze back to the datapad.

A moment later, there was the scrape of a chair being pulled up in front of it, and Jade dropped herself into it. "Never thought I'd see you in here again."

It was a friendly enough opening, almost unheard of for an Inquisitor. Luke desperately hoped it was because they were developing something akin to a friendship, and not because she wanted something from him.

"Well, what can I say." He shrugged, waving the datapad in his hand, and drawled, "I've always had a thirst for knowledge."

"Aren't you supposed to be in lessons right now?"

"I said knowledge, not writing essays until my hand drops off."

She laughed. It was an odd, nervous sound—like she didn't know quite what to do with it—but it _was_ genuine. Luke wondered how often an Inquisitor actually laughed genuinely. "Politics?"

"Military strategy," he grumbled. "The _Marg Sabl_." That particular essay had proved as difficult as Leia when she hadn't had enough sleep.

"I see." A brief silence fell, and he could tell she was just as uncomfortable as he was, because she ploughed on, "What have you learnt here?"

"Well, for one thing," he said, glancing at the datapad in his hand, "there was apparently an exploratory vessel sent to seek out the Chiss homeworld once that disappeared, then reappeared on the other side of the galaxy, with none of the two hundred thousand crew members having the faintest clue how that got there."

"Fascinating. Reading up on conspiracy theories now?"

"I wish. _This_ datapad," he waved to another, "is about how the population of ryoo flowers on Naboo has fluctuated in the last two hundred years. Apparently it surged shortly after Queen Amidala's peace treaty with the Gungans. Perhaps the Gungans who moved to Theed were especially fond of it."

He realised after he said it that he probably shouldn't have mentioned Amidala, but if she was fazed, she didn't show it.

"Really?"

"Really."

She smirked a little, but in a cheerful way; for one breathless moment, Luke thought her eyes looked green.

But then she looked up at him and they were as yellow as acid, and he let out a breath. _Must have been a trick of the light._

"Anything _else_ interesting you've found?"

Luke was still staring at her eyes, trying to find that angle they'd looked green from. He could have sworn he hadn't imagined it.

But if he hadn't. . . that meant. . .

He admitted quietly, "I found the records for the Inquisitorius. Where each member was. . . acquired."

She froze.

He continued, "You're on there, if— if you're interested. Your birth name, parents—"

"Don't." The mask hissed shut, and Luke fought the urge to grimace. "I am the Sixth Sister. All that I am is the Emperor's. That is all that is important."

He inclined his head in acquiescence. "As you wish. I just thought you might be curious."

She pushed herself to her feet, a little too quickly. Luke caught the chair with the Force before it could clatter to the floor—he'd just gotten on Horada's good side, he didn't want to ruin that so quickly.

Jade didn't notice. She stormed off too quickly to.

Though, Luke noted with melancholy amusement, she had to pause to retrieve her lightsaber from Horada first.

"Care to tell me what that was about?" said a voice.

Luke yelped—of all the call backs he'd experienced in one day, Leia _had_ to rejuvenate _that one_ as well.

He scowled at her as she stole Jade's vacated chair. "Where were you hiding?"

"Behind that shelf." Leia nodded to it, the scrappy bun on her head bouncing with the motion. "You must have been _very_ distracted not to notice me."

"I suppose I was."

Leia's eyes flicked to the door, slamming shut behind Jade, then back to him. "Yes," she said. "You were."

He fidgeted. "Don't give me that look."

"You're insane."

"I know."

"She's an _Inquisitor_."

"I know."

"And—what? Telling her you care enough about her individuality to have found her _name_?" She shook her head. "You're _insane_." _You're going to make Palpatine suspicious._

He hung his head. "I know."

She watched him for a second more.

_But—_

She raised an eyebrow. _But_ what _?_

_Leia. . ._

Luke reflexively glanced behind him and leaned forward, for all that here was no way anyone could hear him anyway.

_. . .I think he already is._

* * *

His vision was clouded.

Palpatine leaned back on his throne, frowning. Luke's tension could well stem from the simple fear of being in his presence in such a carefully orchestrated reminder of the last time he'd failed him—certainly, Palpatine had every intention of using the boy's natural empathy, fear, intuition to draw him further into his trap. His visions of Vader's death had only grown stronger in the six months since he first voiced them, and since then he'd been greeted with. . . snippets more, of a future he was _very_ eager to see come to pass.

He saw Luke, glaring at his father and pledging his loyalty to Palpatine above all others.

He saw Vader, kneeling raggedly on the throne room floor, all the fight beaten out of him.

He saw Leia, fury in her snarl and desperation in her scream as she brought her crimson lightsaber crashing down against her brother's. . .

. . .and he saw _her_ , the woman who had started this all, hanging her head and weeping for all she had wrought.

_That_ was the sweetest vision of all.

But the Force wasn't feeding him these snippets with the usual steady flow, the certainty. He wasn't receiving them with clarity or context. They were just that: snippets. _Blurry_ snippets, hinting at a greater story to come but hinting just as vehemently that there was far more to it than the images he grasped.

His vision was clouded, and he _didn't like it_.

There was a spy in his palace.

_Multiple_ spies, for all he knew; yes, the Force assured him so. How many? Two—three? That felt about right. . .

How important were they, that they blurred his vision so? Because _they_ were the thorn that the fabric of the universe snagged on; they, he could feel, were the tipping point on which this future he glimpsed rested.

The future he desired so fiercely was dependent on a handful of Rebels. It was. . . irksome. He didn't even know who they were.

So he meditated.

Ever a pleasant experience, he exhaled euphorically as the dark side rushed through him, made him feel. . . _alive_. . . in a way he rarely did. It sustained his ailing body, soothed his aches, but that was the least of what it offered. Pain was nothing to him, compared to the _power_ he could achieve.

His own talents in the Force were significant. But as always, when he revelled in the power he could touch, he reached out to remind himself of his most devoted servants and acolytes—and his most powerful.

After all, ruling the galaxy was nothing. True power was being able to exert his will and control over every free thinking being inside it, including. . .

He found Vader first, if only by virtue of sheer strength in the Force and their bond. His apprentice was the customary storm of anger and hatred, tearing through the crew of his still-new flagship in orbit. Tearing through the crew, and removing several of Palpatine's more efficient spies, he should note; he would deal with that later. _That_ was one game he especially enjoyed playing.

Luke and Leia came second, again by dint of their enormous potential. Leia was deep in her studies in their mother's apartment, which was where Luke _should_ be. . . but he wasn't. In fact, he was much closer, mind ruffled but slowly soothing. . .

Well. That boy had proven a surprising capacity for surprising him recently. Palpatine wasn't sure whether to be amused, intrigued or threatened by it.

Why would he willingly return to the Archives?

_Luke Skywalker_ , he had reportedly introduced himself to Galen Erso as, as nosy yet self-conscious as an eighteen-year-old could be. He was a talented agent; he must have known that name would make it back to Palpatine.

But what did it mean?

He had his suspicions about what Leia had truly done while she was on Tatooine. Her muted reaction to his _twin suns_ comment had tipped that off to him, and the fact Luke knew his name was _Skywalker_ was proof enough. Vader would never have divulged that information voluntarily.

He had, even, begun to use the knowledge to drag Leia away from her father and towards him. She was certainly feeling angry with him, betrayed, lied to, and she had always been the twin who looked up to him the most. She was the one most likely to pledge unconditional obedience to him, above all of her beloved family members.

Strange, then, that the vision had shown _Luke_ doing so. . .

He frowned. Shook his head. No, he was thinking about this the wrong way: it was not one twin or the other. He could have both, _and_ the father, and he could even break their _attachment_ to each other while he was doing it. They were not the issue right now, however oddly they'd been acting due to their familial squabbles; what concerned him was the identity of these spies.

So he moved his focus off them, gladly. They'd always been annoyingly light in the Force, and eleven years on the nests of shadows that were Mustafar and Coruscant hadn't changed that. They simply _loved_ each other too much. He'd do his best to change that in the future, but again: this wasn't his focus right this moment. They were powerful anyway.

His Inquisitors were harder to sense, but if anything they were more satisfying than the Skywalkers. _They_ would never rebel against him, did not have even the slightest thought of it. He had perfect control of a slavishly loyal, ruthless killing squad to carry out his bidding. While he thoroughly enjoyed playing with the Skywalkers when the Inquisitors' flat state of mind grew dull, they provided the blueprint and guide for what he hoped the twins would be in the near future: they were _his_.

Only. . . not _all_ of them had that flat state of mind that bored him so easily.

He frowned, and pushed harder, eager to see if perhaps he could find some entertainment among them after all. The mind in question was racked with the same constantly exploding nebula of anger, hatred and suffering that he taught all of his disciples—the broken and confused made the best followers—but also, more peculiarly, _guilt_. Confusion. Desire, in that it was a personal, selfish desire, and not just pure ambition.

He reached out to that strange, strange mind, and sifted through it without resistance. Whether she was consciously aware of her master's presence or not, she bowed to it.

What he found allowed him to fill in the pieces of the puzzle he'd been missing. And then. . .

. . .the future began to resolve itself, _clearly_ , twisting into bright, multi-coloured possibilities heretofore undreamt of. . .

His fingers ghosted over the button for the comlink embedded in the arm of his throne. Eyes still shut, he waited for the call to connect.

_"Your Majesty?"_

"Summon Lord Vader, his children, and the Sixth Sister to my main throne room," he ordered. "I would speak with them immediately."

The man didn't question him. He never did. Instant, unswerving obedience; that was what the Emperor craved, and that was what he would exact from his followers, one way or another.

He steepled his fingers in his lap, and finally opened his eyes, resting them on the closed doors to the throne room with a barely-restrained anticipation.


	24. The Point On Which Everything Turns

Leia had just finished and submitted her report to Sabé when the message came in, commanding her into Palpatine's presence at once.

Her heart was hammering against her ribs for some reason, but she didn't object. Didn't think about why she might be nervous. Didn't so much as _consider_ Luke's kind, sweet, compassionate, _insanely reckless_ behaviour with the Sixth Sister, and how it might reflect on them if it got around.

They _could not seem suspicious._ Not now. Not with everything so swiftly coming to a head.

She didn't do any of that. She just changed into something a little more presentable, in the blues and blacks spectrum she always wore, and set off.

She met Luke in the throne room proper, having been the last to be admitted. Him, her father, and—unnervingly enough—the Sixth Sister were already standing before the throne, Luke and Vader on one side, the Sixth Sister on the other. The division between them was stark.

Palpatine was taut on his throne, which meant he was excited about something. He smiled at her as she came in, and it made her skin crawl.

"Ah, Leia," he greeted. "We can begin."

* * *

Leia bowed briefly when she reached the dais, then took her place next to Luke, running a critical eye over him before she turned back to face Palpatine.

He tried not to grimace. He was well aware he was attending an audience with the Emperor dressed in clothes wrinkled and dusty from an afternoon in the Archives, but it wasn't like he could have gone home when he received the summons!

"I have good news, my friends," Palpatine intoned, his entire body language focusing on Luke and his family. He didn't so much as glance at Jade—she hadn't even been allowed to stand from the kneeling position she held on the floor.

Again, Luke had to fight not to look at her—her presence here made him. . . uneasy. . . in ways he couldn't quantify.

"You are aware of our belief that there remain spies in our midst?"

Luke assumed it was a rhetorical question, but Palpatine paused to let him answer. He glanced at Leia, then at his father, before answering on their behalf. "Yes. . .?"

"I believe I have caught them," he said simply.

The tension in Luke's chest tightened, like he had a ball of wire instead of a heart, and someone just yanked on the loose end. The wire wound its way around his ribs, his lungs; he took a deep breath, and hope it didn't seem too laboured.

Palpatine was wrong. He _had_ to be wrong. If he knew, he would have thrown them in binders by now—no. If he knew, he would have summoned Vader first to _regretfully inform him of their treachery_ , and Luke's father would have been his death from the moment he stepped into the room.

_And your father cares more about you than the Empire?_

Palpatine's gaze rested solidly on Luke for a moment, so he fought to keep his warring emotions off his face, but when he moved on he sagged in relief.

Palpatine rose from his throne, and took two slow, deliberate steps down from the dais. He stood over Jade, still kneeling, and said benevolently, "Rise, my child."

She did so, head still bowed, yellow eyes—but they'd been green before, hadn't they?—to the floor. Her subservience sickened Luke, surprisingly strongly; he hadn't realised he was that. . . vehement. . . about how his master treated his servants.

The man himself was indeed smiling faintly at the girl who deferred so completely to his will—he looked almost. . . satisfied with her, in a way he never was with the Inquisitors. He was usually cruelty incarnate when he interacted with them; it had always left Luke perplexed as to why they were loyal to him in the first place.

Unless they had done something extraordinary for him. Fulfilled his plans and desires in just the way to give him the edge.

Luke's blood ran cold. Had— had Jade reported what he'd said to her to Palpatine? His suspicious behaviour? Palpatine must know they were planning a coup of sorts; had he tasked Jade with getting close to Luke, and to report back?

Was this the final straw before Palpatine finally unleashed his wrath for the betrayal on Luke. . . and the rest of his family?

His heart was beating faster, and faster, _and faster_ now, but he _forced_ himself to stay calm. Tried to breathe through his nose, even as Palpatine approached Jade more, that disgustingly kind smile still on his face. Jade's helmet was open—a sign of respect she gave her master unquestioningly, while she balked so hard at giving his father the same—and Luke could read the wary hope in the taut lines of her face. She was so. . . _devoted_ to him, so genuinely eager at the thought he might be praising her, and for just one moment she looked painfully, painfully young.

She was Luke's age, or thereabouts. A little younger. She'd never seemed particularly youthful before, through his eyes—if he could handle this stuff, so could she. But now Luke considered the fact that he still had Leia, and his father; he could still act his age in rare, fleeting moments if he wanted to.

Jade didn't have that. Inquisitors used familial terms almost mockingly, nowhere near the connection of Luke and his sister, Leia and her brother. She had never been allowed to be young.

Palpatine was directly in front of her now. His cane clacked against the floor and held still. He reached out a hand to take her chin, and she let him tilt her head up to meet his eye.

"You have always been so loyal, child," he murmured. "Haven't you?"

He threw blue fire at her.

Her scream was something unearthly, unholy. She was propelled back, hitting the floor hard, her helmet rolling away. She tried to drag herself to her feet, back to kneeling, but he electrocuted her again and her shaking arms collapsed beneath her. She whimpered.

Palpatine took up his cane again, and tapped it once. "I have to wonder," he said, "what spurred your betrayal? _Fulcrum_?" He spat the codename like a curse; Luke did his best to conceal his flinch.

She was shaking her head, almost automatically, "Master? No, master—I— I'm not—"

"I am displeased with you enough as it is, _traitor_. Do not displease me further." The barrage came again, violet and luminous in the perpetual twilight of the throne room. Jade shrieked and sobbed.

That ball of wire in his chest was prickling, dissolved, needles of metal stabbing themselves into the soft tissue of his heart and lungs. . .

Jade was innocent. She hadn't betrayed; she would _never_ betray Palpatine, not on her own. She was entirely innocent, and their master was frying her like meat, like he _didn't care_ —

He clenched his fist, shifting to take a step forward, to _stop this_ —

—and another hand wrapped around his wrist.

* * *

Luke's fist unclenched at her touch; she could feel the tendons shifting in his wrist. Leia didn't dare glance at him with her eyes, fixated on the Sixth Sister's torment, but she hissed mentally, _Don't_.

_Leia, he's—_

_He's onto us. If the Sixth Sister dies, that's one less acolyte of his we have to worry about, and takes the suspicion off of_ us _._

_But she's_ innocent _._

_Luke, now is not the time for your petty, insane crush._ She regretted the words immediately after she said them, judging by the spike of anger they evoked, but they were necessary. _The Rebellion needs us. You can't throw it all away for her._

_But—_

_If you do, I'll pay the price right alongside you._

That shut him up.

They stood there in silence, watching the display as impassively as their father did behind him. Leia did not let go of her brother's hand.

* * *

Luke didn't know how long they stood there. It could only have been minutes at the most: by the end of it, Jade's pleas for him to believe her had long since petered out to sobs.

Palpatine finally stopped, looking down at her with disappointment. Her red hair spilled out across the floor behind her, like a deluge of blood.

"I have to say," he said to the silence, "I'm disappointed in you."

Jade didn't respond, face still contorted in a rictus of pain.

"I thought you were a better man than this, Luke."

Luke inadvertently stiffened, his brows creasing. Vader's mask shifted between them in confusion. Leia's grip on his left arm would cut off the blood supply to his hand in a moment.

"I never believed you were the sort of person to allow someone else to be so grievously punished for a crime you did yourself," his eyes cackled, " _Fulcrum_."

Jade spluttered something from the floor, woozy. Leia's grip had constricted even further. Palpatine looked highly amused.

But Luke's attention was on his father, behind him.

Vader took a breath out of sync with his respirator, the leather in his gloves creaking as he clenched his fists. Luke barely dared to turn to look at him; when he did, that terrifying death mask—the one that he'd thought was a monster when he first laid eyes on it—was fixed on him, unmoving.

Shock—then, understanding. A black, black rage was starting to build.

Luke whispered, "Father?" and watched Vader bring one of his fists up.

A shout of warning from the Force. Luke spun round and blanched at the sight of that crackling lightning, flinching back against his father and waiting for the agony—

A _snap-hiss_ and red washed through his eyelids, the blue fading to nothing in its corona. Luke took a breath, and for a moment he indulged in the thought that his father might have shielded him anyway.

But no.

When he opened his eyes again, stepping away from Vader, trying to get some distance between him and that bonfire of fury, the burgeoning hate, it was not his father who'd saved him. It was Leia.

Of course it was.

It was Leia who held her lightsaber out in front of her, free hand stretched in front of him like she would block him with her body alone. His sister, who would always choose him, just as he would always choose her.

It only made Palpatine smile more. "Of course," he said maliciously, "the Skywalker twins always come as a _set_."

_Skywalker_.

So he definitely knew, then.

"If one is a traitor. . . so is the other."

Inevitably, Luke's gaze flicked back to Vader. He didn't know why—had thought he'd shed that all-encompassing need for his approval, his guidance. But if there was one person in this room he _did not want to fight_ , it was his father.

"Father," he tried again, unable to keep the desperation from his voice.

That mask still studied him. It moved slightly to Leia, her rigid stance as she glared at Palpatine, then back to Luke's open pleading.

Although Luke could not see his eyes, he felt his gaze move to the lightsaber at his hip.

What happened next happened so fast Luke could barely comprehend it. There was a tug at the lightsaber. . . and Luke, buoyed and fuelled by years of sparring lessons where he'd done _exactly this_ , instantly grabbed for it, keeping it solid in his hand as he backed away. He did not light it.

It didn't matter. Leia shouted at his sudden movement, and Palpatine sought to take advantage of it, casting that awful lightning about them like a web—and Jade split Luke's attention by hissing something undoubtedly vulgar at him and Vader stretched out his hand again—

Luke had no idea what he'd been trying to do—choke him, take the lightsaber, knock him unconscious?—but he staggered back anyway, yelped as one of those bolts scorched across his skin—

And then Leia's hand was back on his arm, pulling him, _dragging him_ , and they were sprinting for dear, dear life because Luke _didn't want to know what would happen to them if he stopped_ —

The red guards standing outside turned their heads at the commotion. A simple twist of the dark side was enough to make them turn too far—and then they were no threat at all, just oddly bent bodies littering the corridors.

The beat of his and his sister's hearts was the only sound he could hear.

* * *

Leia didn't know when she stopped leading Luke and he stopped leading her, but she _did_ notice when his route took a very noticeable turn: downwards.

Not upwards, not towards any of the landing pads, or even to their own speeder. That was the obvious choice, so Palpatine and her father—oh _Force_ , she was a fugitive from her _father_ , what had they _done_ —would no doubt be snapping out orders even now, locking them down, ordering the ships above planet to stop any vessel broadcasting an Imperial signal—

But it was the obvious choice for a reason: it was the _only_ choice. Where would they go, if they went down? How would they get out?

She sent her query along their bond, too conservative of breath and time to bother voicing it aloud, and Luke sent his answer along as well. It wasn't in words: it was a memory that flashed from his mind to hers, of darkness and ice on the air and children's bones and Lacert Visz's terrified face in the yellow light of a saber.

And then she understood what Luke was doing.

The shadows had always been the twins' playmates.

They'd ducked into the secret passages between hallways at one point, so they encountered minimal staff, but they _did_ encounter guards. They'd both summoned a blaster to hand and shot each one dead where they stood, reaching out with the Force. It made them a target for Palpatine and his Inquisitors and her— and Vader, but it meant it was easier for them to put distance between the target and the shooters, so it was worthwhile.

But then they plunged into the ruins of the Jedi Temple, and felt the confusing mingle of peace and death shroud them.

Like a mirage.

It wasn't until they'd scaled three crumbling walls, clambered over twenty-two debris piles and slipped on umpteen loose stones and bones that they finally stopped to rest.

Luke lit his lightsaber; neither of them had a glowrod on them. The red light cast his scared face in eerie, intimidating shadows. Leia shivered looking at him—it was such a paradox it tore her world apart.

His voice was quiet. "What do we do now?"

Leia crouched onto the floor next to him, mindful of how well sound carried in these undisturbed halls. If they'd already sent a search party down after them—and she didn't want to risk stretching out her senses and checking if they had—they didn't need to give them any help.

The two of them were already shielding as tightly as they could. Hopefully— _hopefully_ —that mirage would throw enough doubt over their specific whereabouts that they could get out of here before potential search teams could get anywhere _near._

"We get out of here," she said, extrapolating on her thoughts. Luke grunted; apparently, that had not been helpful.

"Well, I'm sorry, you're not exactly Mr. Useful right now, either," she snapped. "What—what do _you_ think we can do now?"

"Get out," he conceded, "and join the main bulk of the Rebellion. If not spies, we're good pilots and tacticians."

"But how do we _get there_?"

"Ahsoka."

It was so obvious. So painfully, blatantly _obvious_ — "She's still on planet, isn't she? She was supposed to meet us today."

"I'll comm her," he said, reaching for his comlink. At least he had _that_ on him. "Maybe she can help us—hopefully she's got a big enough ship for it."

"She has. Didn't she say she'd be bringing someone else to this meeting as well?"

Luke didn't answer, but his lack of contradiction was answer enough. Leia watched with bated breath as he tapped Ahsoka's frequency into the comlink.

Like Sabé always did, she picked up within a minute. _"Luke. What is it?"_

"Palpatine found out about us. We need transportation off-planet."

There was a muffled curse; Leia could tell Ahsoka was trying not to say it directly into the comlink. Trying, and failing. _"I see. Are you sure?"_

"He made a show of it in front of our father and we just had to sprint for our lives through the Imperial Palace," Leia snapped, ignoring Luke's reproachful look. She was on edge, and she didn't have time for this. " _Yes_ , we're sure."

Another quiet curse. _"Alright—I can get you out. Can you meet me by the Works in the Industrial sector, at these coordinates? We have a ship there we can use to get to hyperspace."_

Leia and Luke exchanged a glance, then nodded in unison. "Yes. We'll see you there as soon as possible. If we're not there by nightfall, and won't answer the comlink, assume we've been captured."

_Captured._ By her own father, in the heart of the Empire she'd spent her whole life serving.

_Because_ she'd spent her whole life serving it, she knew exactly what would happen to her if she was—what would happen to _Luke_. Her stomach roiled.

"Let's go," she said, her sudden fear giving her energy she didn't really have as she shoved herself off the wall. It was still barely light enough to see in these corridors.

Luke winced—a moment later, Leia felt it too. It was massive, monstrous, and it _hurt_ , the way it rammed against their shields with the sort of icy precision he probably employed during interrogations.

Leia didn't know. She hadn't been able to stomach watching her father's interrogations for a long time; she just thought Luke's were so much more efficient.

"Ignore him," she told Luke; the conflict in her brother was as plain as day. The part of him that would always be that little orphan boy she barely remembered, wishing for a father, would do anything to please Vader, despite recent developments. She knew that he knew better, would try to adhere to his logic and newfound growth, but she also knew it was tearing him apart inside. "Come on."

He nodded grimly, and pushed himself back to his feet.

* * *

Their first objective in order to get to the Works: steal a speeder.

They'd already left the Palace far behind, so they headed for an exit. There were few speeders that actually worked in the levels as low as they travelled, so they took the risk and headed up again, relying on the hope that the Jedi Temple had disguised their presences enough that their pursuers would be caught off guard when they finally reappeared.

They'd only be caught off guard for a moment, admittedly enough, but it might be enough for them to steal a speeder from one of the lower security landing pads and make off with it. Coruscant was massive, sprawling, and _densely_ populated; if they could get far enough away and avoid any law enforcement, then even with a description and a warrant for their arrest, they could slip by into anonymity.

"Ready?" Leia murmured to Luke, squinting over the edge of the landing pad at the innocuous speeder parked there. She was highly aware of the fact that she was clinging to the edge of a Coruscanti building, with over five thousand levels between her and the surface of the planet if she fell, but sometimes it just didn't pay to think about these thing.

"Ready," he replied, just next to her. The surveillance holocams probably hadn't picked them up yet, _clinging to the edge_ as they were, so it would be what they did next that painted targets on their backs.

Luke reached out a hand and the Force, and knocked out the guards watching the pad.

The effect was instantaneous. The guards collapsed, and Leia felt two very powerful, very dark, _very angry_ presences zero in on them. Vader reached out—

—and she batted him away again. "Go, go, go!"

They swung themselves up onto the platform proper and sprinted for the speeder, more tumbling into the seat than climbing. Leia immediately reached for the controls, fumbled to get it started up—

—the doors hissed open, and white-armoured troopers poured out—

—Luke's blade snapped into life to deflect the first of the stun bolts— _stun bolts_ , a part of her registered, _so they're not trying to kill us quite yet_ —and Leia finally got the damn thing started—

—and they rocketed on the Coruscanti airlanes.

Leia sucked in a breath. Beside her, Luke did the same—but it was relief, not shock. He settled down into his seat and put away the saber.

"They'll have descriptions of us at the next checkpoint," he said, almost mildly.

Despite herself, she grinned, eyeing the gaps between the buildings. "Who says we're going through the checkpoints?"

She ducked between the buildings; Luke's momentary intake of breath was very gratifying, as was his grin. Steel struts loomed for them, but she weaved around them.

She wasn't even bothering to shield, anymore. She couldn't fly well enough to escape Imperial traffic patrols and search parties— _and dodge big billboards, watch out!—_ without the Force, and her father would be able to pinpoint her presence to some degree anyway. Might as well blind him.

"How far to the Works?" she asked breathlessly—she wasn't tired, but she _was_ exhilarated.

Luke glanced around and grimaced as he calculated, "About. . . twenty minutes? Especially"—he yelped as she swerved into an air-lane—"if you're gonna fly at these speeds."

"Of course I'm gonna fly at these speeds. Don't be boring."

He grinned. "Father would be proud of you."

His grin dropped when he realised what he'd said, and she sagely decided to never bring it up again.

She murmured, "Well, here goes everything."

* * *

They reached the Works in twenty minutes alright. The problem was, their pursuers caught up to them in ten.

"I thought"—Leia banked hard to the right, nearly tossing Luke out of the speeder—"they wanted us"—she dove down, and fire lanced above their heads—" _alive_!"

"They do."

" _Then why are they trying to kill us?!_ "

Luke glanced behind him almost mournfully, then yelped and grabbed on as she took another dive. They were nearing the coordinates now.

"It might be revenge for three of them going fireball against that billboard back there," he commented.

"Great," she spat, "dutiful and jealous _and_ vengeful Imperials."

"I have faith that you can do it."

"I will shove you out of this speeder."

"But then all this effort you've gone to in order to take the fall with me would be pointless, wouldn't it?"

Despite herself, she shivered at his choice of words, glancing below her. The mishmash of levels spiralled away below her.

_Take the fall. . ._

She glanced at Luke's lightsaber, deflecting the rare bolts that did pose a risk to them. Red bolts, as red as the saber itself.

_Take the fall. . ._

No. She wouldn't think about any of this right now.

"Coming up on the coordinates," she said instead. "We can't lead them straight to Ahsoka, or we'll never get out of here. I'm gonna ditch the speeder at this walkway here, and then we'll work our way through that scaffolding on foot; the speeders can't follow."

"Leia—" Luke said, and once again she sensed it a heartbeat after he did.

Vader.

Their father was coming.

She brought the speeder to a screeching, sudden stop on the walkway and practically shoved him out. Several of their pursuers shot right past them.

"Go! Hurry!"

Without another word, he took off running. She raced to catch up.

"The coordinates are just up there," she reiterated, ducking and leaping in swing succession to avoid slamming into a metal pole. "We—"

"Wait." Luke drew his lightsaber again and sliced—almost negligently—through two of the poles he'd almost rammed into. One fell with a clatter, before it plunged into the depths of Coruscant; the other. . .

There was a creaking sound from the scaffolding above them. Luke extinguished his lightsaber.

"Let's go," he said.

They cleared the scaffolding just as it collapsed behind them. The return path was impassable.

"Good thinking," she said.

"I _am_ capable of it from time to time."

She pointed. "There."

He squinted for a moment, before he saw what she had seen: a figure crouched on the building opposite to them, tall, with a Togruta's silhouette.

"Ahsoka."

"We need to—"

A cold rushed through them. Luke whimpered. If the situation was any less dire, Leia would have mocked him for it.

Instead, she glanced behind them. She couldn't see anything—Luke's makeshift blockage still held—but the hum of a lightsaber through metal echoed.

"We need to go," she tried again. "We need to get across to that building. There's a bunch of struts; if we use them as stepping stones, we can—"

"No." Luke shook his head, sickeningly pale. "If we jump simultaneously, individually, it'll take too long. Trust me. We need to work together."

For a moment, Leia wondered why he knew so much about jumping through the airlanes of Coruscant, then decided there were more pertinent things to worry about. "And _how_ do you propose we do _that_?"

"I'll throw you with the Force," he said simply, "and then you throw me."

She stood frozen for precious seconds. The lightsaber— _her father_ —was getting closer.

"Come on, we've done this before."

"Fine, then. I'll throw you first."

"No—I'm the better thrower, you're the better catcher, remember? This is the best chance we've got." He glanced behind them, then cast his gaze back to Leia, eyes pleading. "Please—we're running out of time."

She took a deep breath. . . then nodded. "Alright."

She eyed the edge of the walkway, the jump she'd have to make, and took a few steps back.

"On three."

She crouched a little, readied herself.

"One—"

Her heart was hammering in her chest; tremors were running through the Force, playing through her body like vibrations on a viol's string.

"—two—"

She fixed her mind on Luke, ready for that push. Luke: steady, solid, dependable Luke, who she knew would see her to the other side safely—

"— _three_!"

She jumped.

There was a moment of terror, where she slowed in midair and crested the height of her arc and thought _this is it, this is how I die—_

And then the Force barrelled into her, knocking the air from her lungs and _flinging_ her to the other side of that chasm. Ahsoka was there, running towards her; she hit the ground rolling, back on her feet in a heartbeat, already shaking off the bruises.

Because time was of the essence, here.

She turned, ignorant of Ahsoka running at her.

_On three_ , she said mentally. _One, two,_ three _—_

He jumped. She pulled.

He shot forward. Like a blaster bolt, like a starfighter, like a fist. A relieved smile broke across her face—

And then he was yanked upwards, and stopped.

Just. . . stopped.

He stared at her in shock—and mounting terror.

She pulled, and pulled, and _pulled_ , but it did nothing.

He hovered in midair for a moment, clutching at his throat.

Slowly, dreadfully, _desperately_ , Leia slid her eyes back to the walkway they'd jumped from.

Sure enough, her father stood there, the wreckage of her brother's blockage in red hot pieces behind him.

He stood like some dark knight amid the winds and chaos and descending dusk of Coruscant, a solid, unmovable shadow against its constantly shifting chiaroscuro. She couldn't tell where his mask was pointing—whether it was at Luke, or her, or even Ahsoka, still racing for her.

But Leia could see his hand.

It was held out in front of him, thumb and forefinger pinched together. And Luke, still hanging in limbo, struggled to breathe.


	25. Shatterpoint Five

He gasped. And gasped and gasped and gasped, the air barely scraping past his throat. He could still breathe, though it took the effort of heaving his lungs and shoulders to _force_ that precious air through; his father didn't want to kill him yet. His hands automatically scrabbled for his neck, as if flesh and bone could shatter the metaphysical grip on it.

It _hurt_.

He—

He'd—

In all the times he'd seen this happen in front of him—all of the whimpering, the sobbing, Jade's stoic snarl—he'd never considered that it might _hurt_. It was just. . . not breathing.

But it _did_. His trachea warped and caved under the pressure, muscles spasming as they were wrenched out of usual alignment—tears _burned_ —

Somewhere, somehow, he heard Leia's shout of horror past the whistling in his ears.

His father brought his hand down, sharply, and Luke was brought back down with it, hard. He barely remembered to roll when he landed. His knees screamed.

The metal walkway clanged with the collision. It shuddered a little, the mess of smoking struts Vader had left the scaffolding as clattering away, some tumbling into the abyss of Coruscant.

But the grip on his throat vanished.

Luke sobbed as he finally dragged in air. He gasped with it. His legs were shaking, his arms were shaking; if Vader had decided to run him through there and then, he couldn't have done anything. Leia's shouts still carried on the winds, quieted to a tense murmuring of dread, and he barely dared to look up at that death mask. He was helpless.

But Vader didn't exploit it.

His hand had relaxed from its claw-like grip, but now it hovered unnervingly close to his lightsaber. He didn't come forward—just watched, still as the monolith he resembled, like a gargoyle among the shadows of the starscrapers.

Luke wasn't sure if the fleeting whisper of regret he felt from him was real or imagined—he tried to follow it up, read his father, but to no avail. All he felt was a steely resolve, forced impassiveness, and—

He swallowed.

And _anger_. Hotter than Tatooine's binary suns but colder than death itself, bubbling and boiling and _burning_ inside that black armour, higher and higher and higher with every breath Luke gasped for.

He coughed and tried, "Father."

Vader tensed at the address. Luke didn't know himself what he was trying to do—beg, plea for mercy, explain himself? No mercy would be forthcoming, not from the Emperor's executioner, and he did not have the _time_ to explain himself. This had been such a journey of thorns, right from the moment his father had sat them down and talked about a slave chip in a suit of armour, and he could not articulate all that he'd learned, all that he'd decided, while they stood here in the winds and the skeleton of Coruscant.

He didn't know what to say.

Every lesson in diplomacy he'd ever had told him therefore to say nothing at all.

Luke had never been great at diplomacy.

" _Father_ ," he begged, dragging himself onto feet that trembled just as surely as his voice did and holding out his hand, "come with us."

His eyes widened as he realised what he'd said—Vader actually took a step back in shock—but _yes_. _Yes._ That was _exactly it_.

_And your father cares more about you than the Empire?_

_Yes. He does._

"Come with us," he repeated, something dangerously close to hope lighting in his chest. His hand began to tremble as well. "Palpatine doesn't care about you—he planted a transmitter in your suit—come with us, and we can take him down. We've got the preparations for the coup, we can pair with the Rebellion, with Mother, and—"

" _Mother_?" Vader's voice was low. Deadly.

Luke kept talking anyway. "Yes—Leia was right, Amidala _is_ Padmé Amidala, she's our mother, we can go to her, be a family again—" He took a shuddering breath. "But I _can't stay_ , Father. Neither of us can. We have problems with the Empire, problems Leia says she couldn't fix even as Empress—and I believe her. But if we can tear down the Empire and start anew, we _can_ fix them. Come on, Father," he said again, and again, and again, " _come with us_. You can do so much _good_ —"

"And I do not already?" There was something. . . odd. . . in the words, flat as they were. Something like heartbreak, or disbelief, or betrayal—or even all three at once.

"Father," Luke shook his head, "you are the Emperor's executioner."

Vader physically recoiled at the words, just as vehemently as Luke had recoiled upon hearing them from the Velts. More and more shields went up, locking away his father's mind like the castle on Mustafar, no matter how desperately Luke pawed along their bond.

"You believe that."

He didn't hide the tears on his face as he nodded. "I do."

"Then you are not the dutiful son I know."

" _Dutiful_?" For some reason that fired Luke's temper as well, for all that he knew that shouting would only make things worse. "I was _desperate_. I wanted your approval more than anything, and you _let_ me hero worship you like that, even knowing exactly what you do, exactly what you _did do_ to my aunt and uncle! I love you, Father"—Vader jerked; whether it was at the impassioned admission or the fresh flood of tears on Luke's face, he didn't know—"but I am a far better person when I'm trying to be _myself_ , who _I_ am, and not some idealised version of you!"

Vader was silent for a moment. The wind caught his cape and waved it around him.

"So this is who you believe you really are," he said dispassionately. He eyed Luke's outstretched hand. "A _Rebel_?"

" _Yes_ , Father. Me and Leia both." He offered his hand further, not missing how his father seemed to shrink away from it. He was gripping his lightsaber like a lifeline, now. "This is who we want to be.

"So _please_ , Father." His voice broke. "Come with us."

Vader's helmet tilted from his face, to his hand. He twitched forward, almost instinctively, then drew back again with a flash of self-hatred. The moment stretched for an eternity. . .

. . .and then an eternity came to an end.

Vader let out something akin to a roar and lit his saber, bringing it up in a flash so fast Luke could barely blink. He stumbled back, but not fast enough; he collapsed to his knees with a cry; he shoved his eyes shut against the _agony_ that ripped up his arm—

His proffered hand, severed at the wrist, fell to the floor with a _thud_.

Shock and terror froze his mind. All Luke could do was stare at the red stump which used to be a working, coordinated hand, scarred and tanned and blemished in irregular places that told of a life adventurously lived. The red-tinged light of the setting sun. The red, angry lightsaber blade as it deactivated and was returned to his father's side.

He said icily, "I will not have a Rebel son."

And, somewhere behind him, Leia screamed to the winds.

* * *

Ahsoka's arms were strong and unyielding and bleeding, blood seeping out of ragged tears made by human nails, desperate swipes. Leia knew it must hurt; she also knew she didn't care.

_"Luke!"_

Ahsoka's arms tightened around her torso, lashed her arms to her side, and still she kicked and screamed.

" _Luke!_ Let him go you— you _bastard_ , _let him go_! _Luke!_ "

Distantly, the falling darkness shrouding everything in shadow, she could see Luke stare blankly at his lost hand, like he couldn't quite believe it. She'd _hoped_ —for one precious, crystalline second, she'd _hoped_ —and now—

 _Luke_ —

"You—!" she sobbed, quieter now, too quiet for the object of her rage to hear her. "You _bastard_."

Vader said something. Luke's face crumpled; Leia felt the rejection, the heartbreak, crash across to her like a planet shifting out of alignment, and she screamed again.

"Leia," Ahsoka said, quiet in her ear, "we need to go."

"No!" She scrabbled at Ahsoka's grip again, but her arms were pinned and she couldn't get a decent angle. " _Luke_ —"

Vader reached out a hand, a shadow in the night, and pressed it like a leech against Luke's stunned forehead. Her brother slumped to the ground.

He bent over him. For a moment, Leia thought he was going to kneel down, hoist him into his arms like when they were injured and got a bad scrape while play-duelling. They'd jokingly kicked and protested that they were too old to be carried like this, the injury wasn't bad, they could walk, but he'd never put them down.

The thought stilled Leia enough that she was aware of the silent tears on her cheeks. The wind chilled them.

But that was not what Vader did. He just turned, gestured sharply to the white figures she could see starting to emerge from the walkway, blasters aloft. He dragged Luke up by the scruff of his collar and practically tossed his unconscious body at them; two troopers dragged him between them none-too-gently, his head bouncing awkwardly against his chest with every step.

Then Vader turned, the wind catching at his cape, and pointed a steely finger out into the chasm—towards Leia.

The stormtroopers turned their heads.

One raised a comlink to speak into it—

" _Leia_ ," Ahsoka said again, _"we need to go."_

"What about Luke?" she hissed back.

"We can and will rescue him later. We _will_. But we can't do anything for him now."

"We can _fight_ —"

"There are entire platoons of stormtroopers coming after the both of us right now, Leia. We are two Force users against Vader, all his troops, and the risk of Luke getting caught in the crossfire. _We would die_."

"But _what will happen to Luke_? Vader— Vader will—"

"Luke said Vader cares more about you than the Empire, right?"

"He just _cut off his hand_ —"

"Making decisions in anger is one thing. Later on, once he's calmed down, I'm sure he'll get his priorities straight." Ahsoka wasn't even arguing as passionately as before, more worn out to a bone-deep tiredness Leia recognised from veterans of the 501st. She just backed away from the edge of the platform, towards the walkway to the ship.

She didn't even seem to believe what she was saying.

But she was right about one thing, at least: there was nothing they could do.

Leia slumped, all the fight leaving her. Luke had disappeared from sight, back into the maze of starscrapers; only her father remained, watching her with the mask's flat, insect-like eyes.

"Luke," she whispered.

But Luke was gone.

She took a deep breath. "Okay. You can put me down now."

Ahsoka hesitated, clearly sceptical, but released her, almost idly moving to rub the deep scratches along her arm. Leia didn't apologise.

"Alright." Ahsoka tilted her head. "The ship's this way. And—" She grimaced. "For what it's worth, there _is_ someone who wanted to meet you. Both of you. But. . ."

"One will have to do," she said dispassionately.

"Yes." Ahsoka laid a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her forward. "One will have to do."

They walked for only a short time before they reached the coordinates they'd been given, though it was risky enough as it was. Vader knew where they were, and was hunting Leia as fiercely as he was Luke. It wouldn't be long until the stormtroopers came with speeders and ships, and managed to catch up to them.

But they reached the hiding place of Ahsoka's ship soon enough. "Well," Ahsoka admitted before they even arrived, "it's not really _my_ ship."

Leia didn't even have the energy to muster up surprise at seeing the _Hidden Star_ 's familiar shape in the dusk gloom.

The landing ramp descended before they even approached, warm yellow light spilling out. A figure—presumably the pilot, though Leia would have thought Ahsoka could fly herself—stood waiting for them.

Again, Leia didn't have the energy to be surprised at Biggs Darklighter's face. Even as he gaped at her, glancing at Ahsoka only as a courtesy.

"I've run the pre-flight checks and we're ready to take off," he said to her, eyes sliding back to Leia every other word like some compass pointing north.

"Good," Ahsoka said, "then we'll do that as quickly as possible. We need to get off Coruscant before Vader can get a blockade in place. Leia," she turned her gaze to her, "go and head into your old cabin—Biggs and I moved all our stuff to the spare one when we heard you needed an escape route. We thought. . ."

_We thought Luke would be with you as well._

Leia nodded, unsmiling. "Alright." She wasn't of any further use here.

Ahsoka made for the cockpit, but Biggs— _Biggs_ , the boy from Tatooine she could _actually remember_ _now_ —lingered for a moment. He looked conflicted.

"Biggs Darklighter," she said.

"Leia Skywalker," he threw back, a little accusatorily. "I—"

She turned her back and walked into her cabin.

She had no belongings to unpack, nothing to ingratiate herself in with. She just dumped herself onto the well-made bed and tried not to cry.

The ship hummed underneath her as it took off and shot into the sky. Distantly, she could hear planetary security's warnings about sticking to the approved airlanes blare out of the cockpit, until Ahsoka shut off the comm and focused on getting them out of there as fast as possible. She felt the ship rock when it took its first barrage of fire from a pursuing TIE fighter, then after that the rest of the shots were white noise, drowned out by the wailing of the Force.

_Leia._

Her father was calling to her, alternating between desperate, heartfelt pleas for her to return and threats for what would happen to her—to _Luke_ —if she didn't. She shut him out, didn't respond, sure he could feel her rage over what he'd done to Luke loud and clear.

Instead, she reached for Luke. He was still unconscious, the bond dimmed in a way that was more unnatural than sleep but not as definitive as death. It did not help her rising panic.

 _Luke_ , she called, trying to prod him awake. No reply; Vader had him too far under. _Luke. . ._

No answer.

She screamed.

Her throat was raw, but she screamed some more, and some more, until it was hoarse and she couldn't dredge up enough air to continue. She grappled with a pillow, pressed it to her face and screamed silently, airlessly. Hot tears soaked the fabric and her face.

"Luke," she whimpered. " _Luke_."

Nothing. Not a flicker of response.

Luke stayed unconscious for the entire dogfight and escape, until long after they'd jumped to hyperspace and their bond stretched to nothingness. Only then did Leia finally emerge from her cabin, uncaring of the tears still staining her eyes, and sat in the back seats in the cockpit to watch the streaked star warp and shimmer.

Biggs turned to her, no doubt to say something inane, but one look at her dissuaded him. He and Ahsoka left the cockpit.

Leia brought her knees up to her chest and kept watching the stars, watching the hole in her chest grow larger and emptier with every parsec they travelled.

Another tear escaped her eye.

She was so, so cold.

**.**

**End of Part I**

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so that's all for the first part of this fic and that's all that I've written out so far. I'm going to stop updating for a while now while I start working on Part II (which ought to be the last part, but we'll see how it goes and how long it gets). 
> 
> I'm not sure how long this break will be, but it'll definitely be over a month, if not several. There are still some other fics I want to turn my attention to writing, I'll have a lot of research to do to do the fic justice, and I think the time I'll have to write will severely decrease as well. But I _will_ finish the fic, I have too much exciting stuff planned not to, and despite what the last few chapters might imply it _will_ have a happy ending, for all of the main characters. It'll be a long, difficult road for them to get there, but they will get there. I'm not going to make this a tragedy.
> 
> In the meantime, I wrote [this](https://spell-cleaver.tumblr.com/post/187372137534/can-i-ask-something-too-if-you-can-94-for-luke) ficlet set in this universe and you can also come join me and a lot of other fic readers and writers at SilverDaye's discord server [here](https://discord.gg/4RZ8Qce) or here: https://discord.gg/4RZ8Qce
> 
> Thanks for reading, and it'll be back in a few months!


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